Nothing but Lies
by fiesa
Summary: It's probably a troubling sign that her conscience comes in form of the Secretary's son. Complete. Follow-up for the episodes 3.05-3.09, AU from then. A different way for the season to end, and a multitude of possibilities.
1. Ghosts

**Nothing but lies**

_Summary: It's probably a troubling sign that her conscience comes in form of the Secretary's son. OneShot. _

_Warning: Not sure about Walternate's title and Ella's age. Feel free to correct me.  
_

_Set: Post-Amber 31422, so spoilers for episode 05.3_

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended. _

_

* * *

_

She can still hear her voice.

Small, child-like, full of happiness, anticipation and expectancy. _Ella's _voice. It is the voice of her niece, the voice of a girl that has turned eight years old today. It is the voice of a child which doesn't exist.

At least not on this side.

Olivia sits at the window of the living-room and stares outside into a night that seems blacker than usual. Maybe it is new moon – she never really cared for the moon calendar since it did not affect her sleeping patterns. Or maybe this night seems so dark because she feels so… _lost._ She feels like she does not belong here, like she is a stranger desperately trying to fit in but standing out nevertheless. And if she believes what she has seen, when she believes what her head and the ghostly figure of the secretary's son try to tell her, then she _is_ an intruder. An impostor, a marionette, a stranger. If she believes what her _heart _is telling her, she really does not belong here at all.

She has lied to them.

_I didn't go anywhere, I didn't see anything. It just was all black. _

Yes, she has lied to the Secretary and his head scientist because if it's true what she thinks (_and feels_) they have lied to her even more. They have lied to her and forced her into a universe she does not belong, they have tampered with her memories and her emotions alike. And she does not feel the slightest bit of guilt knowing what she has done because she knows what _they _must have done to her first.

Shivering, she wraps her arms around her and closes her eyes.

Okay. So if she is right, then she isn't Olivia Dunham. No, that isn't right. She _is_ Olivia Dunham, but she isn't the Olivia Dunham from _this _side. She belongs on the other side. On the side on which the WTC has been attacked by terrorists, on which her mother has died years ago and her sister is mother to a beautiful little girl named Ella. 

_And she has talked to her_.

Another possibility, of course, is that there is _another_ Olivia Dunham on the other side who has a niece and a sister and _she_ is the Olivia Dunham on _this_ side who has a mother and works for the Fringe Division and who is in a stable, happy relationship. If they are able to implant memories, it might be the other way round, as well. But how is she supposed to know which way is right?

_You don't always need proof, Olivia. Why don't you just believe what your heart tells you?_

It probably is a troubling sign that her conscience came in form of the Secretary's son. There he is again, as soon as she opens her eyes, leaning against the door frame casually. He is wearing a dark sweater and his hair is slightly mussed. His smile is warm and cynical at the same time.

_You have seen it, you have talked to Ella, and you still don't believe me? What do I have to do to convince you?_

"You're in my head. You don't exist."

_That one's starting to bore me. Don't you think there is a reason for my coming again and again to tell you what you already know? And haven't you seen proof that I am right? I'm in your head. I only know stuff you know. You think I'm lying? Can you lie to yourself, Olivia?_

"You tell me," she answers, fed up with always having to force herself to believe he isn't real. She isn't sure whether she is the person she believes she is, so she is going mad anyway. Who cares whether she talks to ghosts or… whatever?

_I'll tell you._

He walks over – _walks? _ and sits down on the sofa right next to her. The cushions don't give under his nonexistent weight. His eyes bore into hers.

_You know you don't belong here. You know there is a reason why they have given you _her_ memories, forced you to be _her._ You know they are planning something because they are trying to get you to cross over. It seems like you have this ability but the other Olivia hasn't, so they need you, and the other Olivia has gone in your place to make sure nobody notices you are gone. She probably has a mission on the other side, too, and since we know Walter – _this_ Walter – is planning on destroying _our _side, it has to be something dangerous. Dangerous for _us_, for _our_ side. And you _know _this isn't a lie, it's the truth. _So_ what are you going to do, Olivia?_

She has to think about his words for a while, because he has used pronouns she never thought she'd hear him utter again. But he is in her head, isn't he, so why shouldn't he use them?

_Our_ side. _Us. We._

"I have to find out what they are planning," she finally says carefully. "And I have to find a way to contact…"

Contact _you_? Contact Peter? She settles for another way. "I have to find a way to tell Broyles. The one on … the one on the other side."

The ghostly man in front of her nods encouragingly.

_That sounds like a plan. _

Olivia gets up. "I have to…"

_First, you have to get some rest._

His voice is calm, but insistent. She considers it slowly. Yes, maybe he is right. She should get some sleep, she should probably eat something, as well. There is no way she will be able to function without rest. But God, she wishes she could.

Suddenly, revelation comes crashing down on her.

She is on the wrong side. She does not belong here. She belongs on the other side, with Rachel and Ella and Walter and Astrid and Broyles and – and _Peter_. She belongs with Peter. She _has_ to get back – she _wants_ to get back – she wants to see him again, to hear his voice, feel his hand on hers. She came to this side to get him back and she has succeeded – he has gone home. But now, she is here, and the _other_ Olivia is with him. _That's not right._ As sudden as the revelation, sickness follows at the thought of Peter smiling at her other self, talking to her, listening to her, _touching her. _Kissing her.

_Hey._

The ghost of the Secretary's son watches her with concerned eyes.

_Everything okay?_

No. Nothing is fine and she sees a ghost in her living-room. She is seeing the ghost of the man she loves and nothing is okay. Everything is just one great lie: She told Peter he belonged with her and now he is with her other self. He told her he cared for her and he probably isn't even able to distinguish both her selves from another. Her entire life here has been a lie. She has no mother, she has no boyfriend, she hasn't even got Charlie anymore. Everything around her is a lie. True, it is a beautiful one. But that doesn't make it less painful.

"Yes," she lies and turns into the direction of the bathroom.

He doesn't follow her.


	2. Dreams

**Nothing but lies, part II**

_Set: post 6955kHz_

_Warning: Spoilers for said episode_

_Sequel? Well…  
_

_

* * *

_

Olivia crosses dimensions in the only way every human being is able to do:

In her dreams.

Except the cold stone floor beneath her naked feet doesn't feel like it is supposed to feel in a dream. The sound with which the crystal ball shatters isn't as it should sound in a dream, and the fact that she cuts herself and her hand starts bleeding isn't the way a dream should go. It's early morning here, the sunlight barely glances into the room through the half-sealed shutters of the souvenir shop. Beyond, the huge emptiness that used to be filled by the twin towers looms over a slowly waking city.

She is dressed in an oversized T-Shirt and shorts, the same she put on when she went to bed. Unable to believe, unable to hope, she breaks the small window of the shop's backroom and scrambles outside. There is nothing pulling her back this time, nothing forcing her to return, neither the lack of oxygen nor the horrible pain. But she doesn't dare to believe. Olivia Dunham has long learned that hope is too quickly crushed to put her faith into it once more.

Wandering through her home city – the _real_ one, on _her_ side, _here_ is where she belongs – she tries to take in as much as possible before she wakes up again. Because she knows that wake up she will. Despite the _realness_, despite the fact that she can feel stones and cold pavement underneath her naked feet and despite the fact that she shivers in the cool morning air, she only is dreaming.

_Wake up._

She doesn't want to see this. She doesn't want to be here. This is a punishment.

_What have I done to deserve this?_

Ghost-Peter, her constant companion for the last few days, remains quiet. Maybe her brain is too focused on creating the all _too real_ street in front of her to let him appear.

She'll have to live through this on her own.

Deciding not to care about the surreal _realness_ around her, she ignores the few people passing by her. Without wanting to, her feet have found a rhythm, are moving steadily into one direction. Too numb to contradict them, she merely follows. Down the street. To the right. Across the traffic light. The usual traffic is slowly building up. From one side, she smells the scent of fresh coffee.

Her brain obviously wants to torture her.

Feeling sick with every minute, she continues on, like a sleep-walker. Her eyes take in the skyline greedily. She hadn't known she remembered it quite so well.

Same with the cars. And the stairs. The door. Had her door always been like this – so bland and boring and _normal_? And yet it felt so painfully familiar she wanted to lean against it and cry. She didn't, because the doorman was watching her suspiciously.

_Why did she care?_

She had no reason, yet she tried a smile. He seemed to relax and turned back to his morning newspaper.

The cold steel of the elevator. The soft _bling_! as it opened its doors. The rough wallpaper, hiding the small hole she hid her spare key in. The quietness of her apartment.

Something was different.

She felt like a stranger, an intruder. Maybe that was why she crept forward and stopped dead in the hallway.

_Shoes._

Definitely _not_ female ones.

_Wake up._

On quiet soles, she walked into her bedroom and found them.

It was utterly strange for a dream, and utterly strange in itself. She had never seen Peter sleep, never seen him quite so peaceful. She looked at his relaxed features, his bushy eyebrows, his proud lips. His one arm was carelessly thrown across his own chest, his hand resting in a nest of hair. _Blond_ hair. _Her_ hair.

_Not_ her hair.

_She _slept equally peaceful; her face turned towards Peter, her nose almost touching his other arm that seemed to have been used as a pillow once. Her shoulders were relaxed. There was a smile playing around her lips.

Too numb to feel anything, she watched them for a time that felt like eternity.

_Wake up._

She needed him. She needed Ghost-Peter, telling her she was dreaming. She needed to hear his voice, needed to see him smile at her, at _her_ and at her alone. But of course, in her dream, what she wanted didn't matter. Feet like lead, she turned and walked into the living-room.

There was only one way to certain she wasn't dreaming.

Although, of course, she could be dreaming _this, _too.

She grabbed the pone and went into the kitchen.

Rache was already awake. She picked up after the second ring.

"Liv?"

Too overwhelmed, she held her breath, afraid the voice would disappear.

"Liv! Are you okay? Ella told me you called but hung up immediately! Did anything happen? _Are you okay, Olivia?_"

"I'm fine," she whispered, her throat aching. Something was pressing against her skull from the inside, was making her head pound and her eyes burn.

"Sorry I didn't call you earlier."

"Thank God," her sister breathed. "Listen, Liv, I was really worried because you gave Ella Mum's cross. You'll come to see us, will you?"

"I will," she promised. It wasn't a lie because she really, really intended to visit her sister and her niece as soon as possible. She just couldn't say how soon it would be – and how possible.

"I love you, Rache."

"I love you, too."

Putting the phone on the table, she squeezed the balls of her hands against her eyes, but the burning didn't subside.

_Wake up._

In the bedroom, an alarm-clock starts ringing. Reminded at who was currently occupying her apartment, she wondered whether they would have breakfast together first or immediately leave for work. It was too early for leaving immediately.

She was dreaming, so she didn't care whether they found her here or not, whether they saw her or not. What did it matter?

The alarm-clock continued.

The ringing got louder and louder. The sound rose until it was threatening to overwhelm her. The neighbors had to hear this, it was way too loud. Why did they need such a loud reminder? She always had been able to wake up at the slightest noise, at the slightest touch. Was _she_ so different? But then, they were entirely different people, shaped by their own worlds, shaped by their own lives and circumstances. The fact that Olivia was currently occupying _her_ life didn't mean she was like _she_ was, and the fact that _she_ had taken over Olivia's apartment, Olivia's love and Olivia's home didn't mean she actually _was_ Olivia. But as long as nobody noticed the change, she would be able to _play_ Olivia, and it seemed like nobody had noticed yet. Would they ever notice? Or would she be stuck here, _there_, on the other side, forced to live with people who were willing to use her for their schemes? Would she be forced to watch them destroy _her_ real world? Her eyes burned. Her ears rang painfully with the sound of the alarm-clock. Unwillingly, she shook her head and put her hands over her ears.

_Wake up._

And then, suddenly, she is back again. In _her_ bedroom, in _her _apartment, on _her_ side of the universe. _Her_ not being _her. _She doesn't belong here. This is not her home, this is not her world.

The tears never come.

She lies in bed, shivering madly, too numb to move and to even cry. The alarm keeps blaring until she extends a heavy hand and pushes it off the night stand. It shatters, as the crystal ball has shattered in her dream.

There is one thing she knows now:

She is not able to return permanently as long as _she_ is on the other side. As long as the woman with her face has taken her place, she cannot go home. Oh yes, she can travel between their worlds, she can visit them and call Rachel and watch Peter and _her_ sleep in each other's arms. But she won't be able to stay.

Dream? Reality? Who cares?

* * *

_Are you okay?_

Ghost-Peter is there, looking at her concernedly.

_You still remember what we talked about yesterday evening, do you?_

What they have talked about:

_You know why they have cancelled your appointment, don't you. Whatever they needed you for – they have found it. They don't need you anymore. _

_You have to go back._

_You're not safe here anymore, Olivia._

_

* * *

_

As if she ever had been. She's not safe, she's never safe and nowhere. And she knows. She clings to Ghost-Peter's almost-form with both her eyes, tries to recall the curve of his neck, the spark in his eyes. She clings to him with all the little scraps of sanity she has left.

If Peter can find a replacement, so can she.

And she still has to find a way to get back home.


	3. Splinters

**Nothing but lies, part III**

_Summary: There it goes, and all in pieces. Insanity is her everyday drug._

_Set: post "The Abducted", but I don't think anyone hasn't yet seen the episode._

_Warning: spoilers for said episode. You probably have figured what exactly it is what I'm doing here...  
_

_I was quite blown away by the number of people who put this story on story alert or as favorite. I'm not used to such fame, so please bear with me if I mess up. _

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended._

_

* * *

_

Suddenly, the puzzle pieces match each other and the whole thing comes together.

_Of course._

Now, he can't believe he hadn't seen it before. _How could he have missed it_? All those little pieces, those hints, the tiny things. U2. Ronald Reagan. Her slow reaction when he asked her for the number code last case. Her sudden change.

He's not a genius for nothing.

He has wondered what had happened. She had changed so much, in such tiny little aspects he had rather credited them to her experiences on the other side. But _please_, even Olivia Dunham, who may never had watched _Casablanca_ ever before _knew_ Ronald Regan was _not_ an actor. Olivia Dunham had never displayed _any_ interest in music, so why suddenly U2? Olivia Dunham cared for her job and for her sister and for her niece and Ella…

Had she even called her since they had come back? Had she? She hadn't spoken about them_ at all,_ though she had started to talk about so many other things. _About music, for example._ The thought felt bitter. Hadn't he noticed? Was it true?

_How?_

_Howhowhowhowhow?_

The entire picture becomes clear and then shatters in a huge crash.

* * *

Olivia has never considered Walter as ugly. He was an old man and his wrinkles and sagging flesh were as much part of him as his antics and his strange cravings for cherry-mint bubblegum and pudding at midnight. His face showed the story of a life and she had seen many different expressions on it: hope, and fear, and anger, and desperation. She had seen him happy, and expectant, and hesitating, full of love for his son and full of mischief on other days.

As much as she hated to admit it, she had gotten to know him. Sometimes, she even understood him, not entirely and surely not happily. But he was familiar to her, his ways, his character and his habits were now. And she never had seen him as an ugly person.

But right then, looking into the hate-filled face of the Secretary, she thought she had never seen a person uglier than him.

His mouth was half-open, forming a wordless, hate-filled snare. The corners of his mouth were pulled down, his eyes cold and calculating. She wasn't looking for compassion in his face. She knew she would never find anything remotely like kindness or politeness in it, especially not directed at her. What she was looking for was humanity, and she found nothing like it.

And then he ordered to sedate her, and her yells were muffled behind a hand and another syringe pierced her flesh and another drug was shot into her system and, once again, she was a prisoner.

_His_ prisoner.

* * *

It spoke of his cruelty that he didn't make them give her a sedation that let her black out and pass the next hours in blissful oblivion.

They gave her something else instead, something that rendered her body motionless and her heart racing and her eyes closed. Something that made it impossible to move even a single muscle. She couldn't even blink.

What their drug didn't do was shut off her brain.

Olivia was left in an enclosed space, something halfway between a cell and a lab, on a cold, hard floor, her arms bound (well, _probably_ bound because she couldn't feel them) and her entire body numb and cold. They hadn't bothered to strip her of her clothing, so the damp clamminess of her jeans and her jacked slowly soaked into her flesh and right through her into her bones. It was terrifying, not being able to move, not being able to _feel_ anything at all and still being able to think.

_Damn. Damn. Damn._

_So close. _

If she had been able to, she still wouldn't have opened her eyes. While the cold soaked into her soul, she lay motionless and refused to think. She had been so close. _She had been there._ She had almost made it. Now, she was trapped again, prisoner again, and they would never let her get back home. She had known it wouldn't be that easy, hadn't she? She had _felt_ it.

_You can't go back as long as she is there in your place._

Still, she had tried. She had nearly succeeded. After all she had gone through – begging Henry for help, being discovered by Broyles, even making it into the tank – they had forced her to come back, or she had come back by herself because there already was another version of _Olivia Dunham_ in the place that belonged to her by right – and there was no way she could escape from this place again. Strange. The last days had been fueled by the thought of going back home, of leaving this place. Of leaving behind a life that didn't belong to her. She had almost forgotten how much she detested the Secretary, how much she wished Charlie was still alive on the other side, how much she missed…

How much she missed Peter.

His smile danced before her eyes.

_This is bad._

Wow. Speak about Peter and his ability to find the words that would make her feel better. She would have smiled if she had been able to.

"So now you suddenly are back?"

From the day she had dreamed about him, he hadn't appeared again. Like her brain had suddenly decided she didn't need the drug anymore, didn't need the adrenaline that shot through her body as soon as she saw his face. He had been what had kept her sane and when she realized she wouldn't break he had disappeared, had vanished as soon as she had made up her mind. And here he was again.

_I'm in your head, remember? You didn't want to see me._

She wanted to contradict him but knew he was right. She wanted to see him, had desperately _craved_ for him – and yet, she _didn't _want to see him.

"Okay. So what do I do now?"

_Hey – I'm just the guy with the connections_, he reminded her. _You are the one who does the gun-slinging and shooting and chasing. You make the decisions. What are you going to do now?_

"I don't know."

_Wow._

Silence.

"Maybe I should just give up. I tried to cross the universes but I got pulled back. I can't leave again, I can't even move. I can't even talk except in my head."

_You're still alive, aren't you?_

Not thanks to you, thank you.

But with Peter, everything had started, hadn't it?

_Are you giving up?_

She thought about it. As she saw it, her situation _was_ helpless, she was in utmost danger and she had no place to run to (she had no legs to run, the way it felt). Her last hope was a cleaning lady in a souvenir shop somewhere in New York. And there was no way she would know whether Peter had gotten her message. The woman had been so shocked Olivia wasn't sure if she just had gone home and blamed the entire event on hallucinations, on heavy food and the lack of sleep. She couldn't just wait for a rescue team that would never arrive. But she couldn't do anything else, either…

So could he blame her if she _had_ lost her faith? If she gave up? She was fed up with being strong, with always holding up. She was so fed up with it she couldn't even find words to describe _how_ fed up she was. And still, there was something nagging at her. Something she had to sort out slowly. So she concentrated on finding it, blending out the sound of her erratic heartbeat and the blood pumping through her ears and tried to find the source of the strange feeling. Peter fell quiet, he knew she was thinking.

Realization came, as always, like a bucket of cold water. _(Hadn't she had enough of it already? Really.) _

Her situation wasn't exactly like honey dew and roses. Actually, her situation _sucked._ Greatly so. _But_ she was alive, _and_ Broyles had neither tried to kill her nor reported her to the Secretary (at least she _thought_ he hadn't) and she had been on _her _side. _And _her brain was working, _and _she had been on her side, _and _she knew she would be able to go back _somehow, and_ somehow, for the first time in days, she felt something remotely like hope.

Okay, it was crazy.

She was imprisoned once again, by people who probably didn't mind seeing her dead. She couldn't move, couldn't _feel_, her heart was strangely loud in her ears (the drugs, probably) and she still was on the wrong side. Peter still had replaced her with _her_ and she still felt like something had been ripped from her and crushed ruthlessly.

But she had _hope_.

She had a goal. She had… She had herself back, her faith, her determination. Ghost-Peter's image danced before her eyes, a smile in his, and she returned it. Then, slowly, he faded away. And she knew he wouldn't come back this time. And not ever again.

This was insane. She had lost everything, really _everything – _she couldn't even go back pretending she was her other self. She had left Lincoln and Charlie and Max, the little boy. She had left her mother and her job and given up an entire existence which hadn't belonged to her but which she had made hers, somehow. Or maybe, she had been molded to fit into it, and maybe she had molded herself into this borrowed life. Now, she had nothing. She probably would die. Still, she felt stronger than she had for the last months.

It was insane.

But insanity was her everyday drug, the one thing Olivia Dunham really could cope with. And therefore, she didn't feel afraid. Therefore, she lay there, bound and incapacitated, and tried to find a way how to get out of this shit she had gotten herself into again. She wouldn't rely on a message sent trough a stranger and she wouldn't rely – and this thought hurt most, somehow, and showed her she wasn't even remotely as strong as she thought – on a man who had been living with a copy of herself for weeks (_how long had it been, actually? She couldn't even remember) _and hadn't noticed.

(_He hadn't, had he? Or had he? Had he seen the difference? Would he believe a random stranger calling and telling him she had been caught? Would she see him again? Would he still look at her the way he had done when she had come to get him? Nothing but irrational, her fears, her hopes, but she was only human after all.)_

But the only one who could help her in her situation was she herself, after all.

Olivia focused her thoughts and _thought_.

* * *

_How do you assure yourself of the fact that you have been living with an impostor for the past month?_

She had been so good. So _damn good._ It was her voice, her face, her hands all over. It was Olivia, _his_ Olivia, in gestures, in words, in smiles.

Though could he actually say _his Olivia_? If it was true what the caller had implied, _his _Olivia was trapped in the same universe she had travelled to in order to _bring him back_ and the implications of his thoughts send his brain into a mad reel.

True?

Lie?

True?

If he only could call the stranger who had called him. If he could ascertain himself of the fact that this person _really_ had seen Olivia, if she had said something, _anything_, he could use as proof for the fact that she was _there_ and not here. Of course, he had tried to call the mysterious caller, but, as it turned out, she had called from a public phone somewhere in New York. And he knew _that much _already.

But would he want to know _more_?

Maybe running again was the only answer. He hadn't played with the thought for a long time. For a month, now. Since he had left for the other side he hadn't even thought of fleeing. Now, the thought hit him with the force of a truck. Running was what he had always been good at, leaving and not looking back.

Except there were too many things he couldn't run from.

One was the thought that, if _Olivia_ (he couldn't bear it to think of her as _his_ any longer) really was trapped on the other side, it was _his _fault. She had come to get him. Now he was here, and she was there and_ oh the irony_! He owed her to help her get back _(or was this a trick and Walternate was playing him again and how could he know how would he be able to find a solution should he talk to Walter or Broyles what could he do to save her should he risk it could he or was it a trap but he couldn't travel through the universes like she did should he confront _her_ about it and how would she react and oh God it explained so much so much so much...)_ But the moment he realized _what_ he had to do, guilt came crushing down on him like a huge tidal wave.

Guilt and fear and the feeling of _oh-God-what-have-I-done-how-can-I-ever-look-her-in-the-face-again. _

Neatly, his whole life which he had centered around a fake person for the last months, was coming apart again.

Olivia Dunham always had this effect on him, whichever she was.


	4. Interlude: Prices

**Nothing but lies, IV**

_Summary: Interlude. She cannot bear to think of herself as Olivia Dunham any more. Not in this world, not in this place where she is herself and yet not herself. _

_Warning: Altlivia. _

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended. _

_

* * *

_

It's slowly coming to haunt her and she wonders why.

She's a professional.

She's a highly trained specialist, a brilliant spy, an experienced Fringe-agent. She has fought common and not-so-common criminals, has placed her life in danger to save people and she has killed others to save. Yes, she has killed people, without ever hesitating, without blinking, because it was what needed to be done. Because those people had endangered civilians, had committed great crimes or simply had threatened to kill her. She has never hesitated to fight for her own life, for her own and for the lives of the people she has pledged herself to save, and she never has found it hard to deal with the aftermath. In her world people who hesitate don't live long and people who drown in guilt live even shorter.

If the other Olivia is different, all the better.

She never could think of the woman she was impersonating as someone similar to her. They looked alike, like sisters, like twins. But they were _different_. She had kept her weapon in her bag. Olivia kept hers in her jacket. She preferred plain suits and a ponytail. Olivia liked her leather jacket and her boots and her hair was always left open. Olivia had a life, had friends, a good job and a relationship. Olivia had a mother and friends. She had, so it seemed, no life besides her job. She had no hobbies, as far as Olivia knew, she had had no relationship (although_ something _had been between her and Peter, and Olivia had destroyed it or saved it, she didn't know what it was) and no family (hadn't she said she had a sister?) and, last but not least, she didn't have any friends. With other words: her life was plain, simple, almost boring, and Olivia resented it with the same passion she normally reserved for very ugly animals and certain food.

At the same time, she felt relieved. Her lack of social contacts made it easier to integrate, helped her to learn to impersonate her mirror image faster and better. Hadn't anyone noticed yet? Nina Sharpe had seemed to be suspicious, but she had managed to talk herself out of it. Peter didn't realize anything, she was sure. Neither did Walter, and if Astrid had her suspicions, she had never let anything slip.

It is strange, seeing the same people she knows from her side on _this_ side.

Broyles. He is as calm and collected as the Broyles she knows, though he seems… _Involved_. She knows no better word for it. Her lieutenant has always been detached and professional and though this Broyles doesn't let anything slip past his mask, either, she thinks she was able to detect some odd sort of… _protectiveness_ underneath his professional behavior. Maybe he compensates for the lack of a family in this world. Astrid is even more puzzling. She isn't the emotionless, rational computer Olivia knows her as. She is warm and kind-hearted and patient, and as brilliant as the Astrid on her side is. But here, she has a more personal note, seems more human. Olivia wonders whether everyone she gets to know on this side of the universe is like that: a sillier, warmer, kinder, more human image of the people she knows.

_No_.

No, that can't be right. Charlie and Lincoln are human, too, are kind and humorous. But the Secretary definitely isn't like the Walter on _this_ side.

Is there a Charlie here, too? And a Lincoln?

What has happened to them?

Has she known them?

_She._

Somehow, she can't bear to think of _herself_ as Olivia Dunham, any more than she thinks about _her_ as Olivia. It… It doesn't only feel wrong, it _is_ wrong. _This never should have happened._ She never should have met her other self, they never should have swapped places. They have disrupted the flow of the universe, have destroyed something essential. Olivia never believed in fate, but it feels like it.

This isn't her place.

She isn't Olivia Dunham. At least, she isn't the Olivia Dunham that belongs here. Using the name, she feels like she is becoming her, a bit more, every day. She uses her name. She sleeps in her bed. She does her work. She… She is _in her relationship_. It is so odd she feels like laughing out loud sometimes. So strange she feels like throwing up. And... so comforting she feels like she can be entirely herself. It's the most dangerous thought.

* * *

Peter's arm slips away from underneath her head as he pushes away the blanket and scrambles to get up.

"What is it?" She asks sleepily.

"Walter," he says and sighs. "I'll just find out what he wants now before he _comes to see us_ again."

"Will you be back?"

The words slip from her lips, leave her before her exhausted mind can register them.

He seems to hesitate, then bends down and brushes his lips over her hair.

"Yes."

"Okay."

Relieved, she listens to his steps leaving the room quickly, pausing to grab something – _probably his jacket – _and to slip into his shoes. Then the door shuts with a soft _bang._ Tired, she closes her eyes. _What was that?_ Ah, yes. She is playing a role. Somehow, she has slipped into it unconsciously. Even when half-asleep, her mind remembers. She is playing the role of Olivia Dunham, FBI-agent, currently in love with Peter Bishop.

* * *

The carpet is stained red.

She scrubs and scrubs but it remains. The stain is almost as big as her hand and as she watches, it starts growing, and the glistening red becomes wet and warm again. She watches horrified as her entire apartment is covered in blood.

Newton comes after her.

_You won't find any help here. You already lost the little control you had when you came here. How long will you be able to go unnoticed? One day, he'll notice, he'll realize who you are, and then it will be too late._

She draws her gun.

"Shut up!"

He starts laughing and his features melt into a mask of quicksilver that flows towards her and starts climbing up her legs. Hastily, she steps back, but it's too late. It slowly covers her entirely, creeping up her legs and arms. The liquid burns. It burns into her flesh, into her bones, and with a jolt of horror she realizes she is becoming a shape-shifter, too. The pain of _changing_ is unbearable. Different faces parade in front of her eyes, staring at her mercilessly, and she begs them to help her. Not one person reacts. She calls their names – _Peter! – _but they merely stare at her, and the features she has gotten to know so well are distorted in disdain and hate. They melt away only to change into other faces she knows.

They open their toothless mouths and stretch out fleshless hands and their voices are a hollow whisper in a pitch-black night –

_You have killed us!_

And she wakes up shaking and sweating.

* * *

She never had problems with killing people.

Why, suddenly, has it become such a horrifying thought? Moreover, she hasn't killed them purposelessly. They had needed to be eliminated, had endangered her identity. One, two, three… She hasn't lost the count. The blind man. The loving husband. The father. The criminal. The informant. They had to be eliminated and she had done so, as her job had commanded her to do, as her mission required.

Now, suddenly, the guilt comes.

And not only guilt. Fear, too, and insecurity and desperation. And, worst of all: Doubt.

What is she doing here?

Why has this to be done?

For the first time in her life the war she is fighting doesn't feel personal. She never was involved more deeply than this and she has never felt more detached than she does now. It is a dangerous thought. If she is honest with herself, she doesn't want to continue lying. She doesn't want to continue fighting, she doesn't want to continue killing. She isn't sure if she wants to go back. _Of course you want to!_ A part of her screams. _Frank is there, and Lincoln, and Charlie, and there is where you belong! _Another part of her, tiny and barely audible, contradicts. _I want to stay here. I want to stay…_

She doesn't end the sentence because if she does, a world will collapse and a bond will break and her existence will be entirely useless. She doesn't even admit to herself that she is scared.

But the thought repeats itself in her mind like a broken record.

_The price is too high._

* * *

She never wanted to be here.

She never wanted to live another one's life.

She never wanted to start a relationship with Peter, she never wanted to betray Frank. (_The betrayal feels even worse because she doesn't even think of him any more when she is with Peter.)_ She never wanted to be anyone else besides _herself_ and she certainly never wanted to be _herself _but not herself any more. She feels lost, like she doesn't know who she is and what she does and what she is supposed to do.

_It's too high._

All this, it's too much for her. She desperately struggles to remain the rational, mission-oriented person she had been before this had started. But she fails. It's too late – it was too late when she decided to cover up Peter's and her own doubts by starting their relationship. He has changed her, but she knows she still has to finish what she has come here to do.

Her path never was clearer and yet she is unable to see anything.

And Peter doesn't come back.

When she gets up in the morning, having slept far too little and thought far too much, she knows _something _has gone wrong. He must have found out. She doesn't know where the certainty comes from but she knows: Time for thinking is over. She forces back all the doubts and fears she has accumulated the past weeks she has spent in his arms. She takes a deep breath.

When she opens her eyes, she is a soldier again.

_But the price is too high._


	5. Busy Days

**Nothing but lies, V**

_Summary: The days are filled with things that have to be done. It's not like one could yield to the fact that something has shaken the very foundation of their world. _

_Set: Post s03ep08. _

_Warning: ? Seems like a filler…_

_I apologize for the delay. My life is insane._

_Every time I wonder if anyone would like to continue reading this (seeing as nothing ever really happens) someone selects this story as favorite or leaves a comment. I haven't read them yet (crazy life and all) but I will answer as soon as possible. Thank you._

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended. _

_

* * *

_

Olivia returns on a Tuesday.

* * *

On Wednesday, Astrid cleans up the lab.

Arriving early in the morning, she makes sure neither Walter nor Peter are there. Peter probably is at the hospital, she thinks, and Walter apparently prefers the labs in the main quarters of Massive Dynamic's to his old playground.

She starts methodically, by cleaning and examining the contents of the numerous different cabinets and closets and cupboards. Armed with a bucket full of water and soap and several rags she has found in a box, she empties every compartment, cleans it, checks on the contents of the vials and glasses and notes down their content meticulously. Many labels have faded. The ones she can read, she replaces, the ones that are hopelessly lost she sorts out. Maybe she'll have the time to determine their contents later on.

The job takes hours and she is finished far past lunch time. She pauses quickly to wolf down a sandwich she brought from home, then continues with the papers, video cassettes and audio tapes. She sorts them into three packages: One to dispose off, one to store safely and one to ask Walter what to do with them. As the third stack grows into spiraling heights, she shortly wonders if there is sense in what she is doing. Rudely, she pushes back the thought and continues her work. Finally, she decides to store the documents in a cabinet she has just emptied three hours ago: That way, everything Walter might want will be here, but it won't be stuffed into shoe boxes and overflowing drawers. Walter probably won't be able to find certain stuff anymore, but he never had a system in his chaos or in his random searches and she now has quite an overview on what it is he has been hamstring all those years. She probably knows his lab better than he himself knows it by now, especially since she has spent almost two years organizing it properly.

It's late afternoon now and she has to decide whether to clean the windows or not. She decides not to do it – the College probably will employ window cleaners this summer again and as long as she remembers not to let Walter bar the windows again they'll probably take care of their non-transparent problem. This, at least, is a problem that can be taken care of.

So she hunts down approximately fifty spiders (she doesn't really like them, but she doesn't want to kill them, either, so she catches them in an old vase and sets them free on the campus grounds) and vacuums away all their nets and tons of dust from underneath the desks and lab tables and centrifuges and chairs and cupboards and cabinets and storage compartments and sensory deprivation tanks. Then, cursing silently, she remembers she'll have to do so again when the boy they pay to clean up Gene's stall comes later during the week. _Who cares_, she answers herself and checks her watch. It's almost eight o'clock. Calmly, she wanders through the empty, quiet College corridors and returns with a mop. Warm water and soap are waiting in a bucket and instead of patiently wetting the mop she empties the bucket on the floor. No explosion occurs so she probably has eliminated every trap Walter has set for unwanted cleaning ladies. Forty minutes later, the lab is blinking and gleaming in the harsh light of the neon tubes. It's the same one she has spent her last year in and yet so different.

Her eyes wander across the machines and tables and fasten itself on the sensory deprivation tank again. Turning around so fast she almost knocks over another bucket filled with dirty water, she grabs her bag and the bucket and leaves the lab. The lights go out as she hits the switches.

And leaving, Astrid refuses to look back.

* * *

On Thursday, Walter develops a new scent. On purpose. And it's not a pleasant one.

Actually, he doesn't care much for it. His olfactory senses have had it worse and he probably doesn't even notice the eye-watering stench that comes from the biggest and most modern lab in the entire building in which Massive Dynamics resides. But a cleaning lady runs from the room, her mouth covered with both hands, and two young scientists pass the door, stop and continue with their noses scrunched up in disgust.

Inside the laboratory, Walter is standing hunched over a distillation apparition, softly humming to himself. On a little electric stove a few meters away something is boiling away happily. An unhappy woman, in the meantime, is working on the other side of the lab. She is trying hard not to see the man in his baggy cord trousers and an old sweater who doesn't fit her white, clean, sterile world at all. But of course, Walter doesn't notice when people try to avoid him.

"It is marvelous, isn't it?"

His eyes are fixed on the brewing, _stinking _concoction before him. "I added Acetylcholine and see just what effect it had! Amazing, simply amazing!"

"Ehem."

The woman nods once and gives an appreciative sound without once lifting her eyes from her own probes.

"I wonder whether it would be able to… Well, maybe, but I'd have to… But surely, in this facility, they have…"

_Now here we go._

"Excuse me; is there a mass spectrometer here I could use?"

The woman throws him a _very_ suspicious look. This is Walter Bishop, she remembers. Her superiors have prepared her; have told her there soon would be another scientist in their labs. Sighing, she also reminds herself of the fact that this certain scientist would be their new boss, if they wanted or not. She carefully places her probe in a desiccator and takes some keys from a board.

"Please place your probe inside the transport box, seal it and follow me, Mr. Bishop."

She leads him to the elevator. He follows, his probe in his hand. On their way, the air gets better. The ventilation system finally has managed to cope with its superior's newest escapades. And in the elevator, he starts talking again, staring against the ceiling almost angrily.

"She has seduced my son! We have treated her as one of us and she has come to destroy us. How could she… Peter, _my_ son! They spent so much time together, I didn't notice…"

It's probably no good to ask him whether everything is alright, the scientist decides and stares at her reflection in the silver mirror. When the bell announces their destination, she lets out a sigh of relief and marches up a long, clean corridor. She stops at the end.

"Just go straight through the glass doors and turn left. Someone will be there to help you."

"Thank you, …"

"Alice. You're welcome."

He starts trudging towards the door. The woman is about to leave again when he stops and turns back to her.

"Err, Astrid?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind bringing me some egg-and-cheese sandwiches? I'm hungry."

* * *

On Friday, Phillip Broyles attends a funeral.

Well, not really. But there is something indefinitely sadder in the way this broken, mangled, burned body is displayed for the world to see on a metallic lab table surrounded by tables with medical equipment. _Especially_ if it is one's own face.

It _should _be a funeral. Instead, he lies in state on a chirurgical table. Although his body is covered up with a sterile, white lab sheet, Phillip can sense the wounds underneath it. It hurts almost physically.

"My condolences," the young woman says and looks at him shyly. He knows she supposes they are twin brothers. How else can he explain the existence of a person entirely similar to himself without using the words _other universe_? And as much as he trusts Massive Dynamics to absolute silence he doesn't think it necessary to tell more people than absolutely necessary about his job. _Job._ What had started out as a job, and changed into something slightly more familiar as he started to fall into the _thing_ they had developed over the past years (_others would call it family, but it was anything like that)_ suddenly had become immensely personal. This wasn't just a threat to the United States any longer, as little as it was a mere conflict with another country. By now, this had grown into a full-fledged _war_. Dislike it as he did, he didn't try to sugarcoat reality. It had started when Peter had left – no, it had started earlier, much earlier, with a child and a professor. Or rather, with a professor and two children, and look where they had gone? They were at war with a world that had all resources to destroy them, which had managed to infiltrate them without them even noticing and had managed to extract their agent without them being able to do anything against it. Alone the fact that their agent (Dunham? Olivia? What was he supposed to call her?) had made it back gave them a slight advantage. Or, at least, was supposed to give them one. He wasn't sure yet how far it would take them.

His eyes and his mind wandered back to the figure on the table and he felt – what did he feel? Anger, yes, at the fact that someone had been killed in order to protect someone else. And… And…

This man had been a father. Had been a husband. Phillip looked down on the photograph in his hand. A woman was smiling at him, holding a baby boy in her arms. Dark, brown curls framed a thin, pretty face. Sparkling eyes smiled at him and his heart hurt at her sight. _And the boy._

Could it be? Could it be that in one world, he was single, a lonely, broken man, living for his job only? While in the other world he had a wife and a son, and friends, perhaps? Why did one version have a fulfilled life and the other not? And why, why, _why_ did the one with everything to lose had to die while the one that had nothing to lose continued living, now with the guilt and knowledge that again, he had failed to protect someone?

Unable to tear his eyes away from the crumpled picture in his hand, he doesn't even notice the young doctor leave. He stares at the woman – his wife, maybe, in another life, another world – and his son – he'll never have one, he'll never be able to share his experience and see his children grow up – and his mind is blank. His heart feels heavy and his throat aches like he has swallowed glass. He looks at the woman because she stands for everything he ever wished for.

And for everything he won't ever have.

* * *

On Saturday, Peter runs.

He grabs his bag with everything that is inside – an old newspaper, a pair of socks, a packet of chewing-gum, an old pen that doesn't write anymore, a pair of earphones, a toothbrush, sixty dollars and an old cinema ticket and leaves the house in the early morning hours.

He has returned from the hospital one hour earlier.

He takes a jacket and the car keys, nothing else. The motor runs smoothly, the traffic is almost nonexistent at this time of the day. He takes the highway and chooses an exit randomly. Soon, he is speeding down a country road to nowhere. He doesn't care.

He turns on the radio.

"Good morning, America!"

He listens and yet he doesn't.

He drives and drives and suddenly realizes he hasn't much gas left. He stops at a tiny gas station and has breakfast. The old waiter ignores him to the point of impoliteness until he finally deigns himself to take his order. Two truck-drivers are there, silent music is playing in the background. Peter stares out of the window into the waking day and feels nothing.

_(He doesn't see anything, either, but let's pretend he did.)_

He uses the restroom and remembers his toothbrush. For a horrendous price, he acquires toothpaste at the cashier and brushes his teeth. Then he leaves again.

Road follows road and he has long ago lost his sense of direction. Onward is all that matters. No time to stop, no time to think. And, even better, no time to _remember._ Remember soft skin on skin, blond, silky hair, soft lips and hands and kisses and touches. Laughter and a gun pointed at him and a voice telling him _it became more_ and her skin, so soft under his hand. Her eyes. _Her_ eyes. And the same voice, again, in a hospital bed.

_You saved me. You were the only thing that kept me alive._

What exactly has he done? He has slept with her double while she has trusted him to save her. While she has struggled and fought for her life, he has slept and had sex and breakfast _in her bed_.

His brain shuts down and refuses to think about it further. It's starting to get hot. He opens the window and feels the cool breeze on his face. It's a beautiful summer day. He could spend hours cruising around like this, just reveling in his freedom, not thinking about anything. Not even about the fact that _she_ could be here now and it would be even –

_Face it. You're a bastard. _

Should he tell her? She deserved the truth. Did she want to hear it? No, that wasn't the question. Would she be able to hear it? Would he be able to tell her? What was he supposed to do now, how was he supposed to act now? If he didn't tell her, someone else would. And she deserved to hear it from him.

His stomach grumbles. He stops in a village and buys some sandwiches. The girl at the cashier smiles at him. He feels sick as he smiles back. Two children play hide-and-seek behind the cupboards. A couple walks past, arm in arm. He feels empty. He feels numb.

He feels like he doesn't want to feel anything of it, doesn't want to think about anything like that. But she has done _something_ to him, _Olivia_ has, whether it was her or her double. Somehow, he cannot walk away any more. He has tried and it has led him into Walternate's world. _She _has come to bring him back and he owes her to stay. He owes her to tell her. He owes her…

Whatever.

He doesn't know what to feel, what to think, what to say and what to do. He has sat at her bed for three days, watching her fade in and out of consciousness as her body reclaimed the energy she had spent in order to cross the boundaries of their worlds. She has given everything she had to come back. It didn't cost him as much to do the same. A bit of his pride, a piece of his freedom. What remained were his insecurity, his guilt and his fear.

When the shadows grew longer again, he switched on his mobile, ignored the thirty frantic calls Walter had made and the twenty messages he had left, and activated the GPS device.

_Six hours to your destination._

Which, once again, was a sign for the fact that you could run as far as you wanted and, inevitably, it would turn out you had run in circles.

Home never was far.

_(Because Olivia was there.)_

_

* * *

_

On Sunday, Olivia leaves the hospital._  
_


	6. Refuge

**Nothing but lies, VI**

_Summary: VI. Refuge. There is only one thing Other-Olivia hasn't taken from her. _

_Set: Post-s03ep09 – Marionette _

_Warning: -_

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended. _

_For the one person who reviews this story – you know whom I mean – and for all the ones that put it on their favorites' list exactly the moment I really need encouragement. Thanks. _

_

* * *

_

Olivia spends the evening crying.

Not really. There are no tears in her eyes and no sounds escape her lips. She has cried all the tears she had and has said everything she had to say.

But on the inside, she hurts.

_There is no way to go back. _The thought stings, tears open wounds and crushes hopes and wishes. She _knew_ – she knew even before she woke up in the hospital and found him staring at her, his eyes full of guilt. She knew even before she returned. She had dreamed of it, hadn't she? A stranger in her house. In her bed. A stranger with Peter. And the worst is that the stranger was no one but herself.

Her mail has been opened.

Her clothes have been worn.

Her laptop has been used.

Her bed has been slept in, her dishes left to clean, her TV watched, her blankets lain on. Not even her shampoo is the same it was when she left – _she_ has replaced it with something exotic, smelling like peaches and passion fruit.

It makes her shiver.

Every time she touches something, every time her eyes fall on something that once was familiar and now is utterly strange. Nothing seems to belong to her anymore _(not even Peter)_, nothing seems to be in the right place.

She paces the living-room restlessly.

Where has it gone? The hope with which she returned, the happiness she felt at his sight? The expectancy she has carried with her for two days? _You are your own greatest enemy_, she thinks bitterly and almost has to laugh at the irony of the words. _She_ is like her but different. Two sides of a coin. And the knowledge that _she_ won't ever leave her life again (and that Olivia has lost something else, so much more precious) makes her feel like screaming and crying and raging in…

* * *

In what?

In anger? Hate? Fear? Bitterness?

How can she differentiate between those emotions if she can't even say what she _feels_?

_I don't want you anymore._

Lies, lies, and again, lies.

Something in her head shuts down as she walks back into her bedroom and straight over to the closet. The suits she has torn down just this morning still lie on the floor. She grabs them, tugs down the rest of them and piles them up in the middle of the room. Her blouses follow, her shoes, even her favorite ones. Her pajamas. Most of her underwear. Socks. T-Shirts. There is no fury in her movements, not like this morning. She moves efficiently, calmly.

Pushes the pile into the living-room with her feet.

Used towels and bed-sheets follow. The pile grows. Her favorite blanket and the two pillows. Her jacket.

She walks into the bathroom.

Shampoo. Cream and body lotion. Toothpaste and brush. Her few make-up utensils. She starts another pile for them.

Then, the living-room.

A few DVD-boxes. Two magazines. A book she has never seen before much less than heard of. Old case files. She has to return those to Broyles. The little table cloth she had purchased on a whim a few years ago.

The kitchen.

The groceries. The cooking supplies. Obviously, _she_ could cook. The cookies in the cabinet. The caffeine-free coffee. (_How couldn't he have noticed?) _Three bottles of red wine.

Slowly, her apartment is stripped bare. She only keeps what is absolutely necessary and what she can't part with. She finds herself in a room that is almost empty and finally stops to think. Paper waste. Jumble sale. Bulky refuse. Second-hand store. Soup kitchen.

She'll have to buy new clothes, groceries and a few other things. Funny how changing the universes can alter one's view of what is absolutely necessary.

She walks through her now almost empty apartment and feels… _relief_. The walls are white and bare. The lights are soft, but still, there is something that makes the rooms depressingly lonely. Maybe it's the echo of Peter and _her_ spending so much time here. Maybe it's the fact that she has just said good-bye to everything that has been her life, once, a lifetime ago.

As she crosses the rooms for the fifth time, she notices a piece of something sticking out underneath the chest of drawers. Carefully, she lowers herself to her knees and tugs at the thing. It's a picture frame.

_Ella._

_

* * *

_

_She_ has shoved the picture under the drawers and Olivia knows exactly why. There are no words to describe her love for her niece and no words to describe how much _she_ must have resented the picture. The little girl on it is a symbol for everything that is different, for everything that makes the two of them – Olivia and Olivia – individual and yet mirror images of each other. Ella, with her beautiful, front-teeth-missing, huge smile. Her brown eyes and her pretty face, her dark-brown hair and her blue dress. This girl was the only threat to her; this girl and her mother alone would have been able to see through _her_ mask. And this is exactly why there still is one thing left that her mirror image hasn't been able to take away from her.

Olivia closes her eyes briefly and then starts for the telephone.

* * *

Rachel sounds frantic.

It's three am, she hasn't called for weeks. She hasn't told her sister anything, has just disappeared, and that's something elder sisters aren't supposed to do. Elder sisters are expected to be reliable, always there, always with a good word or a brief smile. Elder sisters don't scare their younger siblings to death by almost dying, elder sisters don't just disappear and don't call, elder sisters don't make their siblings worry!

Olivia listens to her sister and smiles.

"I love you, Rache."

Rachel is silent.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

It's not a big lie. It's one of those lies elder sisters are allowed to use.

"Listen, can I come over? I… I just want to see you and Ella."

Slight hesitation.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Stop worrying, Rachel, I'm fine. I just… I haven't talked to you for weeks. And…"

She decides to tell at least parts of the truth.

"I just arrived and haven't had the time to go shopping yet. I don't got anything at home and I don't want to be here, either."

"Come, then," Rachel says, still not entirely sure what to think of the fact that her sisters wants to visit her instead of ordering take-out.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

* * *

Ella sleeps.

It's the beautiful, innocent sleep of a child and Olivia thinks she could watch her for hours. For days. Rachel has gone to bed and left her in the living-room where she has prepared a sofa for Olivia to sleep on. But Olivia can't slept. Instead, she tiptoes into the little bedroom at the end of the corridor and sinks down into the chair next to Ella's bed. The little chest slowly rises and falls as the child dreams children's dreams. There is a ghost of a smile on her face.

Around her neck, a golden necklace glimmers.

Careful not to wake her, Olivia places a kiss on the soft skin of her forehead and sinks back into the chair. Her head on her arms, her arms on the bed, she closes her eyes. Soft breathing makes her own, racing thoughts calm down, quiets the screams in her heart and the angry monologue in her head. Soon, nothing is left, neither fury nor hate nor bitterness nor guilt nor accusation.

Children's magic.

This little girl is her refuge, the only thing _she_ couldn't touch, couldn't stain through her presence. Olivia can't work up the strength to feel hope. She cannot feel happiness, either. Sadness is weighting her down so much she can't swallow without feeling the hurt.

But she feels _here_.

And for now, that is enough.


	7. On Change

**Nothing but Lies, VII**

_Summary: vii. On Change. Has she changed? And if, is she like before now? [Charlie] _

_Warning: Here we go. My updating has become slower and less regular. I apologize but I'm sure you know that silly thing called life that always finds a way to mess with our plans. Thanks for your patience!_

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended._

_

* * *

_

She walks into the office and is entirely herself.

Her long, red-brown hair falls in waves onto her shoulders; her short leather jacket compliments her figure. She carries neither a bag nor anything else. Her steps are quick and determined. But at the door, she stops for a second, casting a glance through the great office room, quickly mustering every single person. She is watchful, always was. That is how you survive in a world of constant threats, constant danger.

Nothing is eternal, not even a human being.

And yet – there is something different to her.

Not in the way she walks, not in the way her smile breaks out like a ray of sunshine suddenly meeting the eye after a cloudy day. Not in the way she lifts her hand to greet you. Not in the way her eyes wander in the direction of your other colleague who is greeting her as enthusiastically as always. Everything is normal. The place, the time, the people. Not eternal but normal, as constant as life can be. Just another day in the life of Charlie Francis.

You always noticed things.

As a boy, people used to laugh at the fact that you could remember such trivial, tiny details, would notice things even trained investigators didn't notice. The name of a book a friend had brought to school yesterday. The muster of the socks your father had worn on Monday. The exact ordering number of someone else's favorite pizza. The color of a pretty girl's top. How many parties were involved in the Hundred-Year War. How many steps the Twin Towers have.

Useless, trivial details. And yet there is so much more to it.

Today, it is what makes you a good investigator. A good agent. You can't deny it, although you don't pride yourself in mentioning it. It's not the way you are. You like being in the background, doing the hard work. You like your job as back-up. Protecting the people of your world is most important to you but protecting the people who _really_ protect this world is your actual goal and duty. Every morning you wake up in a tiny apartment and see the sites of destruction from your bedroom window. And every morning you know there is work for you to do. This world needs protectors; this world needs Fringe Division to protect it because it is unable to protect itself. And it's your job to protect Fringe Agents._ Two special Fringe Agents, _to be precise_._

Nobody can say Charlie Francis never knew what he wanted.

So you can see the things underneath the underneath, so to say. You are the one who looks for the tiny details, the flaws in a story, the loose strings in a flying carpet. You are the one who _notices_ the things that are going on around you. And something definitely is wrong here.

_What?_

You have no idea. But it starts with the fact that she arrives.

Because she has changed.

_Buh._

_

* * *

_

As always, you're not able to tell what it is at first sight. It's merely the feeling that _something is friggin' wrong._ And since it is Olivia you're thinking about you are pretty sure that _something_ happened. She was like this once – and the last time you noticed the change in her eyes she ran from you, shot at you, almost blew up Lincoln. She claimed she wasn't the one she was supposed to be and had been for more than twenty years. She claimed to _not_ be Olivia Dunham and yet to be the exact person she said she wasn't. Other people would have declared her mad. Everyone did, actually. And at first, you did, too. But then you started thinking. She was different, she seemed strange, foreign, _lost._ She seemed Olivia-unlike and at the same time there was something uniquely _Oliviaish_ in her ways. At first, you worried about her mental health and then you started wondering. You know strange things happen. You see them, day after day. You know you're fighting something bad, something indescribable. You have seen people do unimaginable things and tell unbelievable stories. And her story is just too incredible to be invented. The conviction in her voice as you watch the videos you probably weren't allowed to see is startling.

Isn't it sad that you have come to the point that you have to take into account that whatever an obviously _mad_ person is telling you might be _true_ just because the world isn't what it used to be anymore?

Okay, so she had been abducted from her own reality, had been given Olivia's memories and had been forced to stay in your world. And though nothing in her face told you what she was thinking (she looked tired and exhausted and absolutely devoid of all hope) it was something _in her eyes_ that made you think that _maybe _her story was true and _maybe_ she really wasn't Olivia and _maybe, maybe, _she had been abducted from the other side, had been given new memories and now was forced to stay with you. _(But how had she come here in first place?)_

And if you hadn't seen so many strange things in your life already you might have thought _this_ even stranger.

Because she walks into the office on Monday and everything is normal again. She talks, she walks, even smiles like Olivia. She jokes and threatens and behaves like Olivia always does. And yet, you wonder. _What if_ isn't uncommon in your world, _weird_ absolutely not unusual any longer. So why not? What if she wasn't Olivia? And what if she was? And why shouldn't she be?

* * *

There were ways of testing her and you've tried every single one. _Remember?_ _Yeah, except. Do you want? No, you know I hate this stuff. Have you seen? Yeah, of course, when it still was standing._ You're an agent. You know when an alibi is water-tight, and hers isn't only _tight, _it's _water-, wind- and sound-proof. _If there's really another Olivia in Olivia, you cannot detect her.

(Except for the one time she ran into a danger zone without putting on her mask. And that was the point when you _really_ started believing her, wasn't it? But you don't have any proof.)

* * *

It's her eyes.

They betray her, time and time again. Nobody seems to notice but you do. Because you are used to process little details like this and because you are used to watching the people you've pledged yourself to protect. They give her away when she tells the doctors she wasn't from here and when Agent Farnsworth tells them Broyles has gone missing. While everybody else seems rooted to the spot in shock, she just stands there and squares her shoulders. And you _think_ – actually, you don't think anything because the suspicion that is nagging at you is too much to bear.

So what if she just has changed (again)?

What if the fight with the impostors has thrown her off balance and something they had done to her had made her go mad? What if she just has cast aside her fear and insecurities now, what if the change just means she has left behind whatever ghost had been haunting her (whatever madness had been haunting her)? Maybe you're just interpreting too much. Calm down, Charlie, you're imagining things. So if she has changed, she seems to have changed back to the Olivia you always knew. She seems just like herself again, just like before. And that's a good thing, isn't it?

As the hustling and bustling and the voices of worry begin, you realize everyone else already is moving. Lincoln is issuing orders while Agent Farnsworth is leaning over her screen again, Olivia by her side. You want to walk over and see what they're doing when footsteps approach you.

"Agent Francis?"

The man standing before you looks like he isn't even of age yet but he carries the official signet of the Secretary of State's Bureau.

"The Secretary would like to see you."

"Now?" You've long learned to banish surprise and any other emotion from your voice and face alike.

"This second, if possible."

You leave your deskscreen and follow the man. The agents around you try to pretend they haven't heard the conversation. Only Lincoln and Olivia are watching you and Lincoln carries the same surprised expression you might have carried in another life, when emotions still were something that were shown clearly on your face. Olivia… Olivia is looking straight at you, and – _there it is, in her eyes, you knew you had seen it. _In her eyes is no surprise. There is nothing written on her face that indicates at the fact that she worries about Broyles so there must be something he doesn't know, Lincoln doesn't know and probably nobody in this room knows except her. So either she doesn't worry about Broyles or…

Or she knows he is dead.

No.

No, this isn't the Olivia he had talked to for the last weeks. _That_ Olivia – from the other side or not – was a good woman, a strong woman, a good agent. She might have been terrified and lost and not at home in this place. She might have been an impostor with Olivia's face but she was _loyal_. She would have worried about Broyles. She had helped him to save his son and to catch the Candy Man – she would at least _feel_ something_, show_ something. _Do _something. She wouldn't stand here and look as if her superior's death didn't surprise her, didn't even bother her.

Something is going on.

You might be good at finding the loose threads but this story seems too big for you._ Something is going on._ And you don't like it at was gone for several weeks, disappeared without a word or sign and was replaced by another Olivia who didn't like the role she had been forced into. And now, the other woman was gone and Olivia was back and disappeared along with the other Olivia was Phillip Broyles. There is no trace left of him except for the knowledge that blinks in Olivia's eyes. She knows _something_, you're sure about it. You just can't piece together the puzzle parts.

* * *

You always thought the Secretary was a hard, unkind man and after meeting him in person you think your first evaluation was correct. He doesn't even try to beat around the bush.

"Colonel Phillip Broyles is dead. I need someone in Fringe Division I can trust completely and who knows how the Division works. What do you say?"

You were always good in hiding your feelings. It's a survival instinct.

"Mr. Secretary, are you offering me the position as head of Fringe Division?"

"An advancement is due first, of course. I can take care of the trivialities quickly. But we are at War, Agent Francis, and I need the best men and women Fringe Division has to offer."

_Try._

"I understand Agent Dunham knows even more about these matters than I do. Why not make her agent in charge?"

"Agent Dunham has been through hard times lately."

He doesn't even blink. This man is ice-cold.

"Besides, you are the one who has more experience in the field. I believe I can trust you. Can't I, Agent Francis?"

Truth to be told, the way he almost whispers your name makes you want to shiver. But… yeah, emotions, you know the tune.

"Of course, Mr. Secretary."

_Two can play this game. _

"May I ask when Colonel Broyles funeral will be held?"

"There are no remains left to bury, unfortunately."

"Is his demise it by any chance connected to this war you have mentioned?"

"Ah, yes. There indeed was a note on your skills of observance in your files. I'll tell you what you need to know in order to fulfill your duty and protect our world. Colonel Francis, welcome. And – Congratulations."

* * *

You leave the office and feel like you just have paid someone to jump into a pit full of poisonous snakes. Back in the office, you watch Lincoln and Olivia work side by side, heads bent over a huge map.

She looks so normal. She looks like Olivia.

You need some time to think. Something is going on. Something is not right and the first suspects are the Secretary – and, as much as it pains you – Olivia. There is so much you have to find out and you wonder where to start. Obviously, you can't go around asking. Was that what killed Phillip? You can't imagine him doing anything to threaten your country or the Secretary. Phillip was loyal. He was strong. He did what he knew was right, and…

If he had known he was doing something that was wrong, he would have refused.

_This is a mess._

It's shit, not even ankle-deep anymore but up to your armpits. You're not stupid. You _notice_ things and right now you notice the trouble you're in. Though you can't say what kind of trouble it is yet you know it could kill you. It already has killed one person and has made another one suffer. Maybe she is dead, too.

You start planning for tomorrow while you listen to Lincoln and Olivia talk. They have fallen silent when you told them about Broyles. You were right, Olivia already knew. Her eyes are deep and strangely cold. Her eyes were different.

Her eyes…

You listen to your friends and wonder how you can think about the woman that has played Olivia when there is so much to do. You wonder where she came from and why she had been here. You wonder if she really was from where she had claimed to be. You wonder if there really is another world besides yours, hidden and threatening your very existence, and if there are others like this woman on the other side. You wonder if there is a Charlie Francis, and if the woman knew him. You wonder how two mirror images can be so different, how the other Olivia seemed to have lost the edges she must have had once (you could still see traces of them in her) and how Olivia seems to have acquired a certain air of… cruelty.

And you wonder where she is right now, the woman whose eyes were full of pain.


	8. Something

**Nothing but Lies, VIII**

_Summary: viii. Something. Olivia is waiting. Something is coming and she can't say what it is. But it draws nearer relentlessly. _

_Warning: Was it summer in Fringe world? I can't remember. I apologize.  
_

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended._

_

* * *

_

_Something is coming._

Olivia can feel it.

It is all around her. In the air she breathes, in the faces of the people she sees. Her world seems to be holding its breath while the unknown draws nearer relentlessly, unstoppable. The heat in the city is too much to bear. It makes people hasten towards home, using every shadow, every blind, to hide from the burning sun. Not the tiniest gust of wind lightens the atmosphere. The rush-hour's usual traffic jam creeps through the streets in the wavering air. It resembles a dying herd of animals desperately trying to reach the next water hole but hindering themselves and each other in the process. And not even nightfall chases away the heat of the day.

Instead, the full moon shines too brightly to be natural and many people lay awake, too tired to sleep and yet desperate for rest.

* * *

_Something is drawing nearer. _

_

* * *

_

The animals feel it, too.

While humans sit hunched and unmoving in front of desks and tables dogs, cats and birds shift tirelessly. Barking resounds through neighborhoods, cat's cries are heard at night. Birds, pets and wild avian alike, call out warnings but nobody listens to them. Suddenly, clouds of doves leave the city while annoyed and stressed by-passers reflect shortly on how little the city does to keep the streets clean from birds. But they hasten on without pause, hot, sweaty and angry and in continuous stress. In Central Park, dog-sitters cling to leashes like drowning to straws. Every now and then, angry voices shout out names and commands. They seldom are effective.

* * *

_Something is closing in._

_

* * *

_

Children are whiny and aggressive. They refuse to behave, don't listen, annoy to no end. The people blame it on the heat, on the constant pressure that seems to have laid itself onto the city like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Nobody can escape its effects.

The people stay at home; crank the AC up to full power and still sweat. Nobody wants to do anything. Even switching on the computer is too much to ask for. The leaden heat refuses to leave, weighting down every single being in the city.

* * *

_And something is coming._

_

* * *

_

Olivia _knows_ it.

The signs are all around her. Her instincts practically scream there is something just waiting around the corner to show its unexpected head. She can feel it in the air, sense it in the people. She sees it in the faces of the people she works with every day. Astrid is apprehensive and nervous. Walter is focused and presses onwards. Broyles is irritated and protective. And Peter…

_Peter is sorry._

As well he should be; a tiny part of her thinks. Every time it surfaces she pushes it down again. Not even weeks later can she look at him without wanting to touch him. Sometimes the urge is so bad she wants to scream. But she is nothing if not stubborn and she is still trying to make herself believe she hasn't been lying when she said the words that ended her world and started his misery.

And all their faces show worry. They don't know it but they have the same keen senses Olivia has. They feel it, too, even though they don't know what it means.

* * *

If she only knew what it was.

It might be danger. Either from her side or from her… No, from the other side. It might be another shape shifter. Or perhaps another agent? Maybe the woman that looked like Astrid, this time, or even the Secretary himself? (She cannot bring herself to say his name. She still dreams of her personal torturer sometimes.) Or maybe it is something they are planning on the other side. Whatever her alter ego was looking for in Olivia's world – has she found it? Will she be able to use it? What will she do? What will Charlie and Lincoln do, what have they done when they received the message of Phillip's death? Have they noticed she has been replaced, has been switched back again?

_Something_ is coming.

Or is it someone? Someone from her world, perhaps? Is there another mass murderer on this side, another puppet master, terrorist, suicide attacker? Another mad scientist, another failed experiment, another stolen son?

(There always are twos of everything, she knows now.)

Maybe she is imagining things.

Maybe it is nothing like that. Maybe it is the weather, the heat and the constant headache she seems to be having since the evening she still refuses to revisit in her memories. Her hands involuntarily reach up to her face and touch it – yes, she is still there, still alive. Her face is still the same she sees when she looks into the mirror every morning. But there already has been someone else in her skin and she cannot be sure it won't ever happen again. She will never again see herself the way she used to... Her other hand touches her hair. It still is blond, the feel of it still familiar. But the strands are only half their old length now, fall onto her shoulders in a soft curtain of silk. _You look beautiful, Aunt Liv! _Ella had accompanied her to the hair dresser, to the mall and to the theme park. Olivia had almost forgotten how it felt like to spend a day with her niece.

But now she is back in her apartment again. She is back in her job again and she spends her days searching for strange events – for _new cases_ – and trying to avoid Peter. It is strangely quiet in Walter's old lab in Harvard: there is no Walter rummaging around, no Astrid keeping him safe from himself. No Gene the cow, mooing softly. _No Peter._ He still has the ability of being able to read her mind because he does not try to force her into the open. He lets her hide away, lets her avoid him. He probably is waiting.

Like she is.

But for what is she waiting?

If only she knew she would feel better. Olivia hates to be idle. She has forgotten what it feels like to not have any work to do, to not being on the run. It doesn't feel _right_. She has been running the entire last year and now she is stuck in a metaphorical snowdrift, only able to move forwards with agonizing slowness and freezing despite the heat outside. She tries to relax, tries to calm down and enjoy the pause. She deserves it, Broyles told her when she asked him for work, for _something_ to do. Strange how many things have happened two months ago and now there is _nothing_ left of it any more.

_(Not true. She is left but she is lost, too.)_

_

* * *

_

Just as Murphy's Law predicts everything happens at once and only when it is inconvenient. Nothing happens as soon as one wishes for something to happen. And as the days pass slowly, the heat grates on the peoples' nerves, the restlessness on Astrid's and Broyle's patience, the insecurity on Walter's motivation and the distance on Peter's resolve.

And Olivia waits.

If she only knew for what she wouldn't be so afraid.


	9. Storm

**Nothing but Lies IX**

_Summary: ix. Storm. There it is, and it is staring at her in mocking derision. Olivia cannot believe it has escaped her for so long. _

_Warning: Dear readers, from here on we're definitely going AU. Because I haven't seen the newest episode yet and probably won't until it airs in my country. Misery's Toll, I apologize! From now on, we're breaking away from the original plot… *takes a deep breath and jumps*_

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended._

_

* * *

_

While the heat of summer reached its maximum outside the cool, shadowy, _empty _ rooms of Walter's lab in Harvard, Olivia finally found what she had been looking for the past few weeks.

It came in form of a few plain papers in a brown cardboard folder.

It had been discarded on a desk In a rather careless manner. _(Her desk, to be precise, but it still felt strange and alien to her and she resented it for working along with other Olivia. But it was a desk, a plain piece of furniture, and it didn't talk back, didn't even answer her angry glare. She felt both relieved and desperate at the thought.) A_lmost lost underneath a dozen other files and folders, she had just found it today. Since there had been little to do since she had returned Olivia had started looking through the cases _Fringe Division_ had been working at while she was… _gone_. It was strangen that such an amount of things could happen in two whole months while _absolutely nothing _had happened since her first and last case of the mad puppeteer. After two and a half weeks of desperate search for something to do she had given up and thrown herself head-on into the paperwork that had accumulated the past few months instead.

The amount of will-power necessary to do so was incredible.

Looking through the case files filled with her own neat hand-writing was torture in an unimaginable way. She had known she had missed a lot – she just needed to remember Peter's face and she felt like screaming and raging and crying and running all at the same time – but seeing the evidence of the fact that she had been missing for _two whole months_ without _anyone_ noticing her absence was more than she could bear. _It hurt_, in a terrible, heart-breaking way she desperately wished for to stop. But the damage had been done. Even if she would have wanted to she was unable to forget.

Since there was no obvious work to do she contented herself with the un-obvious work only to realize it was even worse than working with Peter in the field again would have been. All those cases she hadn't solved but other Olivia had, all the time she hadn't spent with Peter but her other self had. The people she hadn't met but should have. The cases she hadn't solved but that were _hers_ by right, by _every_ right there was under the stars.

Fate had a horrible sense of humor.

Still, because it was her duty and because she was Olivia, she worked herself through the files patiently, her heart constricting and her throat aching, and tried to understand what had happened while she had been gone.

That was when she found it.

Staring at the papers in utter disbelief, she didn't realize her fists were crumpling them edges badly. Suddenly, her heart-beat was loud in her ears. How could it have escaped her for so long?

* * *

Peter had gotten used to the fact that random people stormed through the entrance of the huge lab Walter now worked in and demanded to talk to him (or demanded for _Peter_ to talk to him). He certainly wasn't used to seeing _Olivia_ storm through the door like all hell was loose. The look on her face was murderous.

God, she was even more beautiful when she was angry.

She had avoided Peter for the last couple of weeks. And though he understood her very well – of course, he _always_ had understood her, he always had known her better than she knew herself – he couldn't help but feel… What _did_ he feel? Anger? Frustration? Guilt? Those emotions weren't even a fraction of what he felt. But they summed up the mess in his head and his heart quite accurately.

Though he knew it better, the fire in her eyes and the suppressed anger in every inch of her body made him ache with want. She looked so _alive_. Suddenly, he wondered how he ever could have mistaken her other self for her. She was absolutely unique: in the way she moved, in the way she glared, the way her hair (she had cut it short, he still had to get used to the fact) blazed like gold in the hot afternoon sun shining through the windows. Realizing he would never mistake someone else for being his Olivia again, he felt his heart grow even heavier. _Great job, Peter._ Of course he would only notice what made her _Olivia_ when it was too late.

Of course he would only realize he loved _her (Olivia, Olivia and nobody else)_ when she had told him she didn't want him anymore.

Stepping out from behind the lab table he had been standing he waited for her to cross the room and come into earshot. Walter barely looked up from his newest toy.

"Good morning, Agent Dunham, it's good to see you!"

She ignored him, a clear sign that there was something brewing.

"_Where is it?"_

Her voice was as sharp as a whip and he fought the urge to duck. At the same time, he wanted to laugh. _That's my Olivia._

"Where is what?"

"_You know what I mean! _I bet it's here, somewhere, hidden in your and Walter's newest paradise! I know you're re-constructing the device! Where is it?"

He frowned. "You mean the device we found last month?"

She gave him a lethal look that said _Don't mess with me_. "No, the popcorn maker I bought yesterday."

He dropped all pretensions.

"I'll take you there."

* * *

"It's really here," she whispered, her voice hoarse. The frown seemed to be stuck permanently to his forehead now. What was wrong with her? Was she angry they hadn't told her about the machine? Judging her reaction she knew what it was – which made his curiosity rise because he himself wasn't sure what the machine would be of use for.

"Yeah. We're reassembling it. It has taken some time to decode the construction manual but once we got it to Massive Dynamics…"

She interrupted him rudely. _"Are you insane?"_

"_What?"_

"Are you insane, Peter Bishop? Don't you know what you're doing here?"

Against his will, he felt hurt. She was glaring at him; her grey eyes boring into his in a way that made him feel like a six-year-old caught with a hand in a cookie jar. Only worse. _(Perhaps like a guy caught in bed with his girlfriend's best friend? Nah, bad example.) _Familiar anger rose as pain gave way to something entirely different.

"Of course I know what I'm doing! What's the problem?"

"_What's the problem?_," she repeated; her voice incredulous. _"What's the problem_? Peter, you _know_ what this is, right?"

"It's a machine that reacts to my touch," he shot back. "It's a device that can tell us more about what is going on right in front of our eyes. It's something that might be able to fix this huge mess we're in, to stop this looming war from breaking lose. It's an opportunity that's too important to be given away!"

"It's a device constructed to destroy our world!" Olivia's voice rose. Her face was pale as a ghost's. "It's something _your_ _father_ has built for you so you can destroy this place, this universe, just because they think we're at war with them! He wouldn't even _blink_ if we were to disappear tomorrow! And you're even building it _for him?_ You are crazy!"

"I'm a scientist!" His fists balled, he stepped away from her and towards the balcony's railing that ran around the huge, sterile, white lab in which the device was being assembled. "If there is a way I can stop Walternate I'm going to do it! And how can I know what power this machine holds without assembling and testing it?"

"You're not a scientist, you're a civilian advisor." Venom was dripping from her voice, her eyes were ice crystals.

"At least there is only one of me!"

* * *

Olivia jerked back as if he had hit her. The last colors drained from her face and Peter immediately regretted what he had said.

"Wait," he whispered, not daring to speak loud because of the expression on her face. "That's not what I meant, Olivia. I…"

At his tone, her face went blank.

"This is a weapon, Peter," she said, her words without expression. "And weapons always turn on the ones that have constructed them. Remember that."

Then, she turned on the spot and left the great hall. Peter was left to curse himself for his idiocy. And to ask himself for the thousandth time if it ever would be the way it had been before again.

Outside, the summer heat and sultriness was abruptly washed away as heavens finally unloaded their wrath and the long-due thunderstorm came crashing down.


	10. Crash

**Nothing but Lies, X**

_Summary: x. Crash. Her phone rang at half past four in the morning. Needless to say Olivia was already awake.  
_

_Warning: To be honest, I have no idea whether there is a train in Rochester. For the sake of the story let's pretend there is._

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended._

_For those who stayed behind. _

_

* * *

_

Olivia's phone rang at half past four in the morning.

Needless to say she was already awake.

"Dunham," she answered, sitting up in her bed and pushing back a few strands of hair that had fallen in her face. Phillip Broyles' voice was crisp and clear.

"There was a train crash in Rochester, New York. We'll take a look at it. How fast can you be there?"

Olivia squinted at the clock on her nightstand.

"I'm on my way in ten minutes."

"Good. Bring the Bishops."

He hung up before she could answer. Not that she had anything to say that she would have told _him_. Sighting, Olivia dialed Peter's number.

-v-

"Since when does a train accident require our presence?"

When she had picked up Walter and Peter, Peter was in a remarkably bad mood. She couldn't tell whether it was because of their confrontation the day before or because she had called him in the early morning hours, demanded him to get ready and hadn't been able to offer more information than what she had been told by Broyles. Which was nothing, she now realized.

The train hadn't only crashed.

It had been lifted right off the tracks, had been shoved aside with brute force and resembled more a heap of aluminum, steel, broken glass and polymers than a conveyance. The axes of the craft had been twisted and torn out. Smoke was still rising from areas in which the train had caught fire and bitter ashes filled the air. Ambulances and police cars stood everywhere, blue lamps flashing. People were running to and fro, carrying injured or guiding shocked passengers.

And there were the people who didn't need treatment or attention anymore.

"Why always trains?"

She only realized she had spoken out loud her thoughts when Walter answered.

"Trains were the first means of transportation mankind had in store to cross large distances, did you know that, Agent Dunham? In the middle of the nineteenth century, industrialization and progress were only due to the railway systems. The train made long-distance-travelling possible and exceedingly more comfortable. One could say it is a symbol of mankind's drive for freedom and independence and… _Fascinating._"

She was used to his changes of topic. Even though she still couldn't say she found the picture fascinating_._ _Horrible_ would have described what she saw more accurately.

"What happened here, Walter?"

The old man was circling around what once had been the cockpit of the train. Its entire nose had been smashed, steel crunched together like aluminum foil in an angry child's fist. Nobody inside could have survived the impact. She shuddered. Peter, who had finished talking to Broyles, came to stand next to her. He carefully kept his distance.

"Seems like it has gone head-first into a wall."

"Only there is no wall here."

Her neutral comment seemed to calm him a bit. "No. So what happened?

"I was hoping Walter would be able to tell us."

"Peter, look! This piece of metal has the shape of a star! Do you think they have chocolate almonds? I would like some now."

Despite the atmosphere – or maybe exactly _because_ of the atmosphere – Olivia almost burst out laughing. She laughed because she knew she would cry otherwise. Peter gave one look at her and his scowling face turned into something much more _Peter_-like. Immediately, she had to turn away. Thankfully he didn't notice. Sighing, he turned to Walter.

"Walter, what do you think about this accident?"

"Was it an accident, Peter?"

"You tell me."

-v-

It took Olivia two days to put together the puzzle pieces. Not because nobody _wanted_ to talk about it but because there were few people left who _could_ talk about it. Every time she saw the list of casualties – fifteen dead, sixty injured, more than ten in grave danger – she felt like screaming. Or crying. Or like barging into Walter's lab demanding answers. But she had done this already once this week and she knew the scientist worked best when she left him alone so she concentrated on what she was good at: asking questions, finding people, putting together the pieces. And then, two days after the catastrophe had occurred _(strange that little things like that compared to the greater context of two worlds being at war currently still counted as a catastrophe on her personal scale)_ she walked into Walter's lab and found him buried behind an army of oscilloscopes, Geiger-counters and other devices she didn't even want to recognize.

A young lab assistant was close to tears and widely ignored. When Olivia came through the door, Astrid saw her and, in the process, noticed the young man.

"Oh, it's fine," she told him. "Go get a coffee or something. And don't worry about the machines."

The man gave a look at the ancient mess and fled the room.

"I'm sorry," Astrid sighed as Olivia came closer. "He's terrified the old transformators might cause a blackout. But Peter has it all under control."

"Agent Dunham!" Walter was staring at a brand-new LCD screen intently. It seemed oddly misplaced in his post-modern surroundings.

"What have you found, Walter?"

"Do you see this, Agent Dunham?"

On the screen before her, lines and peaks were alternating in an otherwise unreadable diagram.

"What, Walter?"

"The energy schemes, the energy schemes! I ran pieces of the train debris through the mass spectrograph yesterday and I found…"

He turned another display towards them.

"You see those lines? They were caused by a normal piece of aluminum-steel-alloy from a normal train. And those…" He turned over the paper. "Those were the ones I found on the crash site. So you see it?"

"There obviously is a difference…" Olivia fought not to lose her patience. Normally – in her definition of normal, which had failed her almost three months ago – Peter would have translated Walter's scientific nonsense into plain US-English. But she wouldn't turn and ask him, no, she definitely-

"The concentration of isotopes is almost three times as high as it should be. There is nothing in our world that would match those diagrams."

She almost jumped. He had snuck up on them and now regarded the screen, frowning. "Of course, it only matches your theory, doesn't it?"

"Yes." She shouldn't wonder how he had come to the same conclusion she had already had. And how the heck he knew she had had it, too.

"I don't like it."

She chuckled without humor.

"You don't like the fact that _they _have somehow managed to create a wall between our universes and now are testing it either? Or that they, in that process, caused a train to crash? Believe me, I don't like it either."

"What would they need a wall for?" Astrid inquired. "Especially one that appears and disappears again?"

"A wall that can withstand the crash of a train at highest speed is most likely able to hold off anything," Walter threw in absentmindedly. "They could barricade themselves and would most likely be safe from any attempt to cross over. It would shield them, of course, from anything that might happen on our side…"

"Like explosions?" Olivia asked.

"Yes, like explosions. I wouldn't wonder if it could hold off an atomic bomb…"

They exchanged glances. _Or the destruction of our world_. They had the same thoughts, Olivia could see it in Peter's eyes. And she wondered whether she should feel happy because he had meant _their_ world or plainly terrified at the possibilities that suddenly presented themselves.

* * *

_A/N: I sincerely apologize for the delay but I won't promise it won't happen again. My entire last week was absolute horror, this day was hell and it doesn't seem to get better. Except I have an idea for the next chapter... The little things make life colorful._


	11. Missing

**Nothing but Lies, XI**

_Summary: xi. Missing. Peter misses parts. And people. _

_Warning: none besides the obvious _

_

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_

_You are going to regret this._

Olivia's words still replayed in Peter's thoughts. No, that wasn't true. She hadn't said those words, hadn't spoken them out loud the way his mind imagined her having done. She had _thought_ those words. And while he had no idea how he _knew_ she had _thought_ them he felt rather sure she had meant _him_. Of course, she could also have meant _herself. B_ut for a multitude of reasons he didn't really trust himself any longer when it came to Olivia Dunham.

Sighing, he put down the screwdriver and used an already oil-stained towel to clean his sweaty hands. While the summer wasn't too hot anymore the sun still shone brightly through the great Plexiglas windows that surrounded what Olivia had angrily called _his personal playground._ The huge hall was entirely empty save for the many parts and components of the device which had been buried all over the world. Even though he had discovered and decoded the manual Peter still wasn't sure he knew what he was doing. He was mostly working by himself, relying on what his instincts told him to do. Reaching out, he touched a thin plate of metal.

Images shot through his mind.

It was nothing one could possibly describe in words. Peter touched the components and simply _knew_ where it belonged. In that way, he had already assembled the inner core of the device. He had worked like crazy, only taking short brakes to eat and sleep. He even slept here, on a thin field bed in the hall. The urgency he had felt whenever it had come to the device had multiplied. Everything in his body cried out for him to finish, get ready quickly, to assemble the machine and put it into use.

He knew it was dangerous. But he was done lying to himself.

-v-

When he had returned from the crash site of the train accident a few days ago he hadn't been able to sleep. Normally Peter wasn't an insomniac, normally he slept through flights and fights and stormy nights because he had learned the hard way that sometimes, his body needed every second of rest it could get. But that night he lay awake, sweating in the summer heat, tossing and turning and unable to calm his racing mind. There _had_ to be something they could do. He had seen a girl, ten years old maybe. She had been comatose, with a severe traumatic brain injury. Her left leg was crushed and had to be amputated. Her frail, little body was covered in bruises and cuts and blood. And _nobody had known her name._ They hadn't been able to identify her and nobody had asked for her, no desperate parent had called, searching for her, no one crazy with worry had tried to find her. She had been brought to the nearest hospital, to be treated immediately, and despite her injuries she had survived until now. But her pale-white face behind the breath mask and her bruised body had burnt itself into his memory. There had to be _something_ they could do_._ There had to be. If Walternate was able to build a machine to destroy the universes, could he build one, too? He flinched at the thought. He wasn't a killer, wasn't a murderer. He wouldn't put himself on the same step his father stood on.

_Not even to save Olivia and this world which has become your own?_

Clenching his teeth, he jumped up and walked to the window. The night air was cool on his flushed skin.

He had to protect this world. There had to be a way. Walternate had found a way to destroy worlds and now he was testing a shield that would save-

He didn't waste time in waking Walter as the obvious solution hit him. He got dressed quickly, scribbled a hasty note, grabbed the box of cookies that stood forgotten on the kitchen table and threw himself into the car. Half an hour later, he pulled up at the company his father lead.

_If they can create a shield, so can we._

-v-

Peter wasn't quite sure how he was going to make it. But he _felt_ the machine was able to be more, more than what his father had dreamed it to be. Maybe it could save them. Maybe it could stop this war. Maybe he would be able to reconfigure it into protecting this world rather than destroying it.

In theory, his idea was good. In practice, it proved to be difficult.

It was a machine. As such there shouldn't have been a problem to modify it. But it wasn't _just_ machine. Of all people, Peter knew this best. It didn't fight him but it _resisted. _And he didn't even know how it worked so it was really hard trying to figure out what he needed to change in order to make it work the way he wanted it to. Exhausted, he leaned back towards the wall and regarded the device. Something was missing. Maybe an integral part, maybe just knowledge on his part. If he could just find out what it was he might have been able to change it.

The sun outside still was blinding. Staring out of the window, Peter's tired brain needed a few seconds to realize what he was staring at wasn't only the window but the reflection of a woman standing somewhere behind him. Pulling himself upright, he turned to look out of the observation glass that ran along the wall. Indeed, a person was standing behind the glass. When noticing him, it flinched involuntarily, like a person that would prefer running but, for some reason, stayed. It was a young woman with long, blond hair and a pretty face. Peter, who normally had no problems sorting people by age, was unable to tell from her face how old she was. Experimentally, he tried a smile. She smiled back, almost shyly, and suddenly seemed incredibly young. When he nodded at the door, she nodded back and both made their way towards the heavy steel door to his left.

"Can I help you?" He asked. The woman smiled again.

"I'm sorry to intrude. I'm looking for my father."

"I'm pretty sure I knew if I had such a beautiful daughter."

The flippancy left his mouth before he could check himself. She laughed, embarrassed, and shook her head.

"No. I mean, I'm looking for block N27, Lab 7.105.31. My father's name is Michael Schuhmacher. I seem to have gotten lost."

"Just a little bit," he reassured her. "This is O27. Just follow the corridor in this direction" – he pointed to the right – and you'll be in N27. The lab is on the seventh floor."

The woman (girl?) smiled, relieved. "Thank you." She hesitated. "What is it you're working at?" She then asked him. "It's like nothing I've ever seen." Peter shrugged.

"Just a device someone I know found. I'm assembling it for him."

"How is it working?"

"Not good."

She regarded him critically. "Why? Don't you have a manual?"

"It's like a puzzle," he tried to explain. "As soon as you put together some parts you notice the rest is missing."

What an absolutely fitting image to describe his life.

The girl smiled, a shy, girlish and yet wise smile. "I hope you'll find whatever is missing soon," she said and re-adjusted the strip of her bag over her shoulder. "Well, I'll be off. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," Peter answered and watched for a while until her straight back disappeared around the corner of the corridor. Frowning at the feeling in his heart, he moved towards the machine again. Yes. Something was missing. But not only the machine was incomplete.

He was, too.

They would have to work on that.


	12. Catalyst

**Nothing but Lies, XII**

_Summary: xii. Catalyst. Each day is the same in the schedule of Astrid Farnsworth. And yet there are things that mark the passing of time. _

_Warning: I apologize for the Science talk halfway through. I somewhat enjoyed it because that way my studies aren't entirely in vain._

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended. _

_

* * *

_

These days, time passes like molten lava.

Steadily and painfully, oddly too fast and yet so slowly she has the feeling it stretches over days. Every day is different from the one before no matter if she has work or not. Every day Astrid Farnsworth gets up early, has a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee and starts her day by walking towards her car.

Every day is similar. Every day has the same schedule.

Every morning the highway is full and her car is hot and the people on the street try their best not to look at each other. Every morning, the same man sits behind the glass window of the parking-lot guardroom and the thin and blonde woman in her white jacket prepares the reception desk. Astrid gets off the elevator at the same floor every morning and makes her way through the slowly filling yet bland corridors to the lab she now works in. She passes the day focused on interesting and trivial cases, drinks coffee and tries to calm Walter whenever he gets carried away. In the evening, she drives Walter back home and returns to her own apartment. She has a quick dinner while watching the news. She calls her mother and watches some pointless TV shows and then falls into her bed, exhausted and elevated at the same time.

Each day is the same and yet there are things that mark the passing of a week, a month, a year.

Every day requires certain energy of activation to get started and can be divided into a number of elemental reactions with different transition states. Though the thermodynamic product is more stable, kinetics win because it requires less energy and she doesn't bother changing the reaction conditions. Laws of science apply to everything, even to the flow of time and the passing of a day. Time only flows faster when there is a reason to it. A day only passes faster when the energy of activation is lowered by circumstances.

Or by catalysts.

-v-

And again, three weeks have passed since she has helped Walter analyze the strange energy emissions at the train crash site. She still sees the victims, burnt, bruised, injured. And she wishes she could hate the other side for what they are doing to them. Unfortunately, she possesses a strong sense of righteousness. And she knows it's _them_ who have started, _her_ universe, _her_ side. The man she is working with, the man she drops off at home every evening, whom she buys candy bars and mints and pastries – he has first crossed the line and now the world is falling apart at its vestiges.

-v-

The TV which has been running since Astrid has arrived that morning is still alive. Blubbering quietly, it tries to sell her a new mixer. She's not interested. The background noise is welcome, though. It blends out the emptiness of a lab without its scientist.

Olivia strides through the door with great steps but in the slump of her shoulders Astrid sees she hasn't found anything else. It's hard to save a world if the world decides it doesn't want to be saved. If Astrid had needed any indication that something was wrong, she would just have to open her eyes. First the train crash, three weeks ago. Since then, catastrophes had started to pile up.

Small ones, first.

Then greater ones.

And she hated them, hated every single little occurrence. The collapsing building. The burning school. The broken dome of the stadium.

She hated them because every single incident carried the same finger print – the strange energy signature – she had learned to associate with the other side. Was it that they just got what they deserved? The other side has suffered so much. Was it their turn, now?

The TV droned on.

Agent Dunham looked tired. There were dark rings under her eyes and her short, blond hair (Astrid still had to get used to her new hair cut) was dull and colorless. She walked over to where Astrid stood, leaning against a spotless, white lab table, and sighed.

"Anything new?"

"Well, Walter thinks he has an idea how he can find out where the incidents will take place next…"

"Since I can't see them," Olivia added darkly.

"Don't blame yourself," Astrid answered, knowing full well it was exactly what the blonde woman did. "It's not like that time with the hotel. They're not replacing anything. They're tearing at the edges of our realm, as Walter calls it. You wouldn't be able to see it."

She watched the woman from the corners of her eyes. Wasn't she able to use her seventh sense anymore? Had she lost her abilities again or was it just that she was unable to see anything that she felt useless? Olivia alone would have been able to answer Astrid's question. The FBI agent raked a hand through her hair. "We're an experiment to him, nothing more. He is figuring out how to best destroy us. He's _playing_ with us."

She spat out the last words. Astrid didn't know what else to say. She had watched as this woman had tried everything – _everything! – _to find a way to save their world. _Strange_. When had their mission _Get the bad guys_ started to take on the dimension of _save this world_?

"Where's Peter?"

The question came so sudden Astrid flinched involuntarily. It was the first time Olivia had even said his name. More, she had displayed interest on a basis that was more than just casual. Exhausted as she was she didn't seem able to hold up pretenses. Quickly recovering, Astrid shifted uncomfortably but Olivia already waved her question aside.

"Never mind. He's in his lab, isn't he?"

_If one could call his workspace a lab. _The Scientist in Astrid protested but the Linguist knew it didn't matter. She nodded.

Olivia sighed again and pressed both her hands to her forehead.

"I don't know what to do."

Her voice was soft, almost inaudible. Her tone carried absolute defeat. Astrid shuddered at the realization that the woman she had always known as strong and indestructible was giving up. _Directly in front of her._ Her brain refused to process the facts. She had no idea what to say.

The TV was unusually loud. The documentary that had been running had been replaced by a news broadcast. Astrid stared at it without actually seeing it until she noticed what it was about.

…_An earthquake shook the very foundations of the Statue of Liberty on Liberty Island in Hudson Bay. The quake, which only reached strength of three point six, was…_

When Astrid finally realized she was staring at the screen Olivia had already wiped out her phone and dialed.

"Peter? How likely is a naturally-caused earthquake on Liberty Island?"

She listened for a while. But she already knew what she would be hearing; Astrid saw it in her eyes. Though she wasn't quite sure what the FBI agent had in mind, she stood stock-still, waiting.

"No, Walter's not here. I'm going there."

Her gaze wandered back to the TV screen and Astrid wondered why she hadn't called Broyles first. Maybe she wanted a scientific opinion. Maybe she needed a specialist, someone who was familiar with strange phenomenon. _Maybe_. But then, Olivia Dunham had seen enough to be a specialist on strange phenomenon herself. And Astrid knew her well enough to recognize what Olivia Dunham was just doing: In her own, entirely unique way, she was apologizing. Trying to show she was sorry by asking for something she knew herself. Not saying sorry directly but indirectly demanding something he wouldn't be able to refuse. So she was talking to Peter again. _Good. _It had been painful to watch how Peter had struggled on when Olivia had outright refused to even _look_ at him only three weeks ago.

"Okay. Do you think…"

She froze.

Astrid regarded her for a second and then whirled around to look at whatever Olivia was staring at. She was ghostly pale, her grey eyes wide in shock. Her hands were clutching the phone so hard her knuckles turned white.

The news broadcast was still running, showing pictures of Liberty Island, broken stone stairs and shaken souvenir shops. The reporter was interviewing tourists who had experienced the quake firsthand.

"And you felt it?"

"Yeah, it was like the world was crashing down all around us and I told Tony…"

_Three point six. Talking about making a mouse an elephant… _

Frowning, Astrid gave another look at Olivia but the woman was still pale as a ghost. Peter's worried voice resounded from her mobile.

"Olivia? _Olivia_, are you okay?"

He sounded like he was already running.

"Yeah," she finally managed but still was unable to tear her gaze away from the screen. Without letting go of the phone, without even looking at her, she directed her next words at Astrid. "Astrid, can you get a copy of this broadcast and analyze it?"

"Of course," she said, bewildered. "Are you looking for something special?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Olivia said, almost to herself. "Do you think the dead return, Peter?"

His answer was lost to Astrid.

"Yeah," said Olivia. "So do I. So what do you say when I tell you I just saw Charlie Francis on that screen?"

* * *

_A/N: This took me some time (I have good excuses, though) and I apologize. I haven't even read your reviews on the last chapter. Well, my exams are almost finished and a week from now I'll disappear from the face of the earth – internet-wise - for one month. Which means I probably won't be able to update for that time. Again, my apologies! I hope I'll be able to finish the rest of the story meanwhile so I can post it as soon as I'm back. I'll try to post another chapter before I leave, too. _


	13. Brave New World

**Nothing but Lies, XIII**

_Summary: xiii. Brave new World. Even the air tastes differently. Charlie catches a glimpse of another world. _

_Warning: -_

_Disclaimer: No copyright in__**Fringe**__ment intended._

_A/N: I got a review telling me Ronald Reagan was an actor before he became president. SERIOUSLY? *laughs* Wow! I didn't know that (I have difficulties remembering my own country's history...) and I just picked him randomly. I had no idea I was as clueless as Altlivia! Anyway, Magpie426, thanks for telling me. I was so surprised I accidentally deleted the message and had to search my wastepaper basket for it!^^ Thanks for reviewing, too._

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_

Charlie has learned a lot in his life.

Some memories are precious.

The memory of his mother, the first time he kissed a girl, the first time he looked into the sky and realized how beautiful a sunset can be.

Some things are important.

The taste of ice-cream on a hot summer day. The sound of his father's humming. A warm hand on his head.

Some things are strange.

A huge crater in the middle of Hudson Bay. A city frozen in amber.

A woman that appears and disappears again and is replaced by someone who looks exactly like her but isn't her.

And _this_ is a whole new definition of strange, he thinks as he stares onto the familiar skyline before him. And even though his eyes water from the strain he is putting on them, trying to see every detail, he cannot fill the gap that has been left when two towers _somehow_ disappeared.

It looks _wrong_.

Not only the Twin Towers are missing but the view onto his home is altered entirely. The black void in the middle of the Bay. The golden reflections from entire quarters frozen in stone-like liquid. Cocoons of cool resin, all-encompassing, enveloping, caringly embracing human beings neither dead nor alive.

_How must it be, living in a world untouched by such terrors?_

But two feelings chase away his melancholy and sadness. The first one has been slowly growing since he has arrived here and makes his throat feel tight. _He has made it._ What is it? Happiness? Relief? He cannot say. He just knows for sure what the second feeling is: fear.

Charlie is nothing but realistic. And he knows a man who doesn't feel fear is doomed to die an early death. It's not the absence of fear that makes him stronger but the fact that he has learned to deal with it. A man can be afraid but he isn't allowed to let fear rule his actions. _Never. _It's okay to be scared as long as nobody notices it. So he clamps down on the feeling and stares down at the city that looks just like his but isn't.

-v-

_Red, One week earlier. _

"I still can't believe it," Lincoln murmured and shook his head. Charlie watched him from the corner of his eyes and then directed his gaze towards Olivia. She shrugged.

"At first I couldn't, either. You won't believe how fast I changed my mind when my double suddenly attacked me."

"Little wonder you were so freaked out after that," Lincoln answered and Olivia smiled. "Yeah."

It could have been a normal day. Routine, nothing else. If Charlie closed his eyes and listened to Lincoln and Olivia's friendly banter and blocked out the memory of the last month he might have even believed it was true. Sadly, he never had been the type of person to indulge in subterfuge. He opened his eyes again.

He was standing in front of a huge machine.

It was so big it filled the entire hall – and the hall was gigantic – and wherever he glanced he saw metallic plates and black wires and shiny surfaces. Various thick bundles of cables ran from around the machine towards the walls and disappeared. Ten high-voltage power sources were hidden beyond the walls. He knew because he had seen the construction drawings. And the machine looked… _evil._ As much as his heart told him there was no way a simple machine could emit that feeling, he knew it was true.

"I mean, another world just like ours out there? Come on, am I the only one who thinks that sounds crazy?"

"Why is it so unbelievable?"

"Another world!" Linc snorted. "I mean, we've dealt with a lot lately, including those weird incidents. But we always found someone who was responsible for it. And as long as there are people who do such things why should I believe in another universe?"

"You've seen the doubles."

"Yeah, that and your word are the only things that make me think maybe you're right."

Sighing, he touched a blank metal plate and yanked his hand away abruptly. "Outch! Man, this thing is trying to electrocute me!" He glared accusingly as Olivia chuckled. "That's not funny! What happened to the good ol' days when the bad guys were the bad guys and not some evil scientists from another universe?"

"Those days are over, though I share your sentimentality," a voice from behind them said and made them whirl around in surprise. Charlie caught himself quickest.

"Mr. Secretary. We've come here, as you asked us to do."

"Yes, you have." Hands gripped on his back leisurely, Walter Bishop stood before them. His grey suit matched the color of his hair. Casting a long look at the machine, he turned his back on them. Without looking back, he asked: "Isn't she a beauty?"

Olivia and Lincoln exchanged glances and Charlie tried to hide his growing uneasiness as he tried to look at Olivia the way he always had. A brow lifted, part of her lips twisted in a cynical smile. She grinned at him quickly when she noticed him watching and he was thrown aback, like every time he looked at her. She looked _exactly _like her.

A week ago, he would have thought he was going crazy slowly. Now, he knew more.

The Secretary of Defense strode around the gigantic machine, forcing them to follow him as he crossed the room. Without once glancing back at them, he started to speak.

"You've been informed about the threat that is hanging over our heads. You have seen the reports on what the other side – let's call it the Blue side, for simplicity's sake – can do. They have a technology far better that what we can muster. They have thrown our world into chaos and pushed us onto the verge of falling into darkness. Bit by bit, they are swallowing us up. Until now, we haven't been able to do much against it, always hasting to minimize damage done. But now, we have the chance to strike back. _This machine_ has the power to strike back. With its help, we can stop those incidents that result in cracks opening in our reality which we have to close by using amber. We can make this war turn tides. _Finally._"

Something in his voice made Charlie shiver. He cast a quick glance at his team: Lincoln and Olivia were listening in rapt attention. On Lincoln's face, disbelief still mingled with suspicion. On Olivia's, a strange expression fought its way from the darkness in her eyes. Charlie suppressed another shiver.

"With all due respect, Sir, why didn't you tell us earlier? We encounter strange phenomenon every day and the proof that they are connected to something we'd never have imagined doesn't even make its way to our desks?"

"Agent Francis, I hope you believe me that the decision to delay the passing of important information wasn't to hinder you in your work. My counselors and I merely wished to research further. We have now reached the point in which we can retaliate. Since now the time for you and your team to step in has come I now give you the necessary information."

Charlie would have snorted, hadn't it given away his thoughts on the matter. He simply nodded.

-v-

"He tells us about another universe and sends us home?"

Lincoln's voice sounded incredulous. Charlie's lip twitched. Olivia smirked. Lincoln narrowed his eyes.

"You have a problem?"

"Absolutely not!" Olivia assured. Charlie merely nodded forward.

"You two keep going. I have to talk to someone. I'll see you later." They threw him questioning looks but continued on. Charlie watched them leave the building and then walked back towards the lab complex they had left earlier. He turned into a sterile, somewhat remote and deserted looking corridor and knocked at the door of a small lab. A female voice answered.

"Come in."

He tried the door. It was closed. He knocked again, more insistant.

A sharp buzz resounded and the door opened. He entered a brightly lit lab: small, but clean, and furnished with all kinds of equipment. In comparison to the new, technologically advanced equipment of the Secretary of Defense's labs and his lackeys, this one still had the splendor of an old laboratory.

A woman stood in the middle of the room, looking towards him without surprise.

"I didn't think you'd come."

"I said I would," he answered. She smiled. Her red hair was laced with silvery threads. Nina Sharpe had aged well.

Instead of answering, she turned towards a series of syringes that were lying on a silver platter in front of her and gesticulated towards something that looked remotely like a garden chair.

"Lay down."

He did as she asked.

Carrying the plate, she walked over and looked down at him. Her dark eyes were unreadable.

"Are you sure you want to do this? The serum has only been tested once and Dunham crossed over with implanted markers. I can't promise this'll work and I can't tell you what will happen."

"This was made from the other Olivia's blood, right?"

"Yes."

"She was able to cross over. It should work. How did you get it, by the way?"

"Don't ask and I won't tell lies."

Charlie smirked at her. "Don't tell me the risks and I will sue you if I end up dead."

"Ha, ha." The scientist pulled up the syringe. "Well, at least I'm not the only one who has a bill to settle with Walter Bishop anymore."

It barely hurt as the needle penetrated his skin. Then the world started to burn.

-v-

The ground underneath his feet shook.

Charlie quickly grasped the railing of the viewing platform as the entire Statue of Liberty seemed to rear up. It didn't end quickly this time. The growling sound didn't subside and dust rose from various walls. People screamed. Charlie clenched his teeth and wondered what he was supposed to do. He had wanted to see it with his own eyes – this other universe, the other side. The place the other Olivia apparently came from. But he hadn't thought any further than this. What was he supposed to do now? He had been lucky to land in a deserted corridor of what apparently was this world's version of Miss Liberty. Now, he had no place to go, until…

From as far above as he was it was hard to see what was going on directly underneath the statue. Carefully, Charlie made his way back down, avoiding crying children and panicking women. He had barely reached the exit when something ran face-on into him.

_A child._

A small face looked up to him. There weren't tears in the girl's eyes but a certain amount of fear and the stubborn refusal to cry. He couldn't help it. This was a _child. _How could _anyone_ regard it as an enemy?

"What's the matter?"

"I can't find my Mum!" The girl was barely eight years old. Charlie ruffled her hair gently. "Tell you what: We'll go to the reception desk and they can make a call for your mother. How does that sound?"

The child didn't answer but gripped his hand trustingly, initial panic slowly subsiding. They made their way towards the entrance and to the desk. It turned out the call was unnecessary, as an equally panicked, small woman was talking to the receptionist hastily.

"Mum!"

The woman turned and Charlie barely had a heart attack. _No. Impossible._

"Ella! Are you okay? Where did you do? I _told _you not to move!" She looked up and saw Charlie standing there forlornly. "Did you find her? Thank you so much for bringing her back! I was just paying and Ella walked off…" She managed a shaky smile. Charlie pulled himself together.

"It's fine."

"Of course, there has to be an earth quake when Ella's class makes a trip… I wonder why the FBI is here, as well…"

"Is Aunt Liv there, Mum?" The girl (_Ella_) requested. The woman shrugged and smiled down at her daughter. "I don't think so, sweetie. Let's go home, okay? I think that was enough for today…" She turned to Charlie again. "Thank you, again."

They disappeared in the crowd and Charlie was left to stare after them. He quickly cast all thoughts off when he heard voices approach, asking the people to leave the building. _Wait. _He couldn't leave. Nina had told him she'd call him back from the same place…

He needed to go.

He moved into the other direction inconspicuously, merged with the shadows behind the now abandoned reception desk and made his way back into the building. Behind him, the local agents (_FBI)_ were evacuating the building. Suddenly, a voice rang out.

"Hey, we're you going? The building's being evacced, stop that nonsense! Hey!"

Charlie started walking faster.

The voices behind him became confuse. Then, a sound triggered his flight complex: the sound of running feet behind him. Skidding around a corner he sped up, trying to find a place to hide.

The feet drew nearer and a voice yelled words he didn't care for. He _did _care for the voice, though.

It hit him suddenly: the breathtaking wave of pain and the crushing sensation that he wasn't able to breathe, that the air was being compressed in his lungs. He almost fell against the next wall and barely found the strength to brace himself against it. The sound of steps drew closer.

_Quick. Quick._

His throat was on fire. His entire body was burning in agony. He balled his fists and bit his lower lip so hard he tasted blood.

The feet stopped.

Olivia Dunham looked at him from across the corridor, her eyes wide in the little light that filtered through the dim, small windows. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the dim shine of the emergency exit sign. Her hair was much shorter and there was a new dimension of pain in her expression than when he had seen the last time. But it was undoubtedly _her._

They stared at each other from across the corridor wordlessly, without moving, without even blinking. Then, the pain overwhelmed him and the world turned dark.

* * *

_A/N: As I promised, another chapter before I leave for four weeks! That's why it's extra long. I think the plot is trying to make a run for it. I'll chase it during my "holidays" and we'll see what happens next!^^_


	14. Resolution

**Nothing but Lies XIV**

_Summary: xiv. Resolution. There's nothing worse than not knowing what one is fighting for. Loose threads come together in two universes._

* * *

"Olivia!" Peter came running around the corner on a dead run and almost crashed into her.

Only Olivia wasn't _there_ anymore.

-v-

_Charlie!_

She yelled his name but wasn't sure whether she had said it loud or in her head only. The second he began to disappear she knew she'd never reach him on time to hold on to him. She didn't even realize what she did. Suddenly the world seemed to crease, to lose substance before her eyes. Then it re-manifested and she was in the same place she had stood before: a dimly lit corridor. Only now, Nina Sharpe was kneeling next to Charlie and Peter was nowhere in sight.

Olivia gaped.

Charlie groaned in agony. Nina didn't even seem to see her, injecting the writhing man with something from a syringe.

"_Don't hurt him!"_

The woman looked up and seemed utterly surprised. She caught herself quickly and continued to work on Charlie.

"He'll die if I don't do this," she said calmly.

Olivia started forward, towards the Nina Sharpe double and Charlie, but something caught her arm and rendered her unable to move. A sharp drag pulled her backwards; tore at her entire body. She yelped in surprise and fought the pressure but it didn't loosen. If only, it increased.

_Olivia!_

Someone was calling her. She gave another glance at Charlie, who seemed to be unconscious but had stopped convulsing in agony, and at the woman at his side. Nina Sharpe sat back on her knees and sighed in relief.

"He should make it."

The tug-of-war became too strenuous to continue. Partly from relief, partly from defeat, Olivia stopped fighting it and gave in to the drag.

The world threw folds again.

And then she was back and Peter was shaking her hard. He had gripped her arms so tightly it hurt.

_Don't you dare disappear on me again!_

Had he said the words loud or had she imagined them? She stared at him wide-eyed and gave an involuntary noise of pain. He stopped and looked at her intently.

"Are you back?"

Numbly, she nodded.

"Thanks God." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you were gone. You were… disappearing? What the hell is going on?"

"I crossed over," she answered while her heart started beating and her head started working again. "I saw Charlie and somehow… Peter, I saw _Charlie!_"

The strangeness of her situation stuck her without a warning. She started laughing. Not maniacally but quietly and incredulously.

"God! I saw Charlie. And then I crossed over. He barely made it out alive. And Nina Sharpe saved him. She probably sent him here in the first place, too."

"You sure it was him?"

Without needing to clarify, she knew what Peter meant: already once a person with Charlie's face had tried to deceive them.

"Absolutely," she said; her voice full of certainty. "He had the Glimmer."

Peter opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. Taking a step back he looked at her and seemed almost hurt. Olivia suppressed the urge to step closer again and touch him in order to make him feel better. She pulled up her brow.

"What's the matter?"

Within seconds, he shook off the strange feeling of jealousy.

"Nothing. Liv, this building is being evacuated. Let's go."

"How do you explain the fact that three people went inside and only two came out?"

Her voice carried an almost teasing undertone. He shrugged, playing along, feeling a grin tug at his lips.

"I'll tell them one of us had an important meeting to attend."

-v-

"So he knows."

"Yes."

"Is that good or bad?"

Olivia laughed again. Peter reveled in the sound: it wasn't a happy laugh but a laugh nevertheless. Something that meant she was able to laugh again. Something that meant she had somewhat forgiven him – or, at least, was putting _it_ behind them.

"I guess it's good. If Charlie knows, he might be on our side."

"What if he isn't?"

"Peter, you knew Charlie. He's exactly like him, and…" She stopped. "It's awkward to talk about two different but somehow the same people, isn't it?"

They drove quietly for a while and Olivia realized one thing: Now that she was dealing with Charlie – with two Charlies – she suddenly was able to _understand_ the conflict Peter felt. Which didn't mean she was able to _forget_, but she _understood._ Maybe that was a beginning?

"If you say you believe in him, Olivia, I trust you."

Another awkward silence followed.

"Ummm… Okay. Should we call in Walter, Astrid and Broyles and see how this changes our plans?"

"Peter, we don't have a plan except for "Stop the destruction of our world."

"A great motto. We should put it on banners and demonstrate in public. You'd get lots of supporters. Maybe they'd make you president."

He couldn't help it: he was trying to make her laugh. He loved the sound.

"Peter, concentrate," she scolded him, but her smile was genuine. Then, her phone rang.

"Oh hey, Astrid, right on time. Could you please call Broyles and ask him to come? We'll have a little head-to-head brainstorming and see what we'll get out of it. Yeah. Yeah, exactly. Yes, we'll bring the donuts for Walter. Okay. We'll see you, then!"

She sighed and looked at him from the corner of her eyes.

"We'll have to stop at Walter's favorite sweets shop. Do you, by any chance, know a German bakery called Lindner's?"

-v-v-

Charlie woke up with the worst headache he ever had had before.

The blood in his head seemed to burn, hammered in his skull relentlessly. The bright light in Nina Sharpe's lab was too much for his eyes. He groaned and put an arm across his face.

"Seems like he's awake again," a familiar voice said. Charlie laid stock-still. "Yeah," another voice answered. "Congrats, Charlie. You took the crossing better than I did when I returned."

Lincoln and Olivia were staring down on him, their faces unreadable.

"I want to know what's going on here," Lincoln requested.

"I want to know what you're planning," Olivia added, her arms folded across her chest.

"I want to know how the hell they came here in the first place," Nina Sharpe concluded and shot angry glances at each one of them. "I thought we had an agreement, Francis?"

Charlie wished he still was unconscious. Instead, he sat up with a great amount of will-power and glared at his team.

"Didn't I tell you to go back and wait for me?"

"We had the feeling you wouldn't return quickly," Lincoln said and jumped up to sit on a lab table. He ignored Nina's warning glance. "Something's going on, Charlie. You're behaving strangely since Broyles… Or even before…"

His voice trailed away.

"You were on the other side," Olivia accused him. "What did you see?"

"Shouldn't you worry more about _whom_ I have seen?" He asked her, his voice without anger. She was the Olivia he had known for almost his entire life. He had seen the other Olivia, had talked to her, had worked with her. She had been different than his Olivia, different in any way that mattered. Now he had seen her again he knew with absolute certainty: This was the Olivia he had known since she was a rookie. Even though she had changed, even though she was involved in something he couldn't watch without doing anything, he cared for her. He would always care for her. But somehow, he cared for two Olivias now. They were almost like twins: each one of them was different, had a different character, a different life. But they looked alike. Just like twins.

And both were extremely important to him.

"Okay." It was Lincoln's turn to cross his arms and glare at his friends and colleagues. "I'm the one who's being left out and I demand to know what's going on. _Now._"

Charlie threw Olivia a look. "You should explain, shouldn't you?"

She stared back icily. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"See it as a test."

"A test," she echoed, her voice incredulous. Charlie nodded.

"A test. Olivia, I need to know where your loyalties are. I need to know on which side you are."

"I'm on _our_ side, isn't that obvious?"

"It seems to me like you're on _his_ side," Charlie shot back and made a movement upwards with his head. Above them, unseen, the Statue of Liberty loomed towards the sky. They all knew whom he referred to. "Nina – this lab is safe, isn't it?"

Nina Sharpe nodded. "Sound-proof and swept for bugs and cameras. Go on."

"_His_ side and _their _side aren't necessarily the _only_ options, Olivia. This isn't only about two worlds and an angry man who can't forget someone else stole his son. _Think, Livia._ If there are two universes, why only two? Why not four, or six, or ten or twenty? What will happen to them?"

She didn't answer.

"I need to know if you're with us or not. Start by telling us everything you know."

-v-

"So that other Walter Bishop stole the Secretary's son and caused the rifts to open in our universe?" Lincoln asked incredulously. "And this woman who kept repeating she wasn't you even though she looked like you _really_ was from the other side?"

"Believe me, I'd never shoot at you or Charlie, even if I was going crazy."

_She didn't shoot at us, either,_ Charlie thought but didn't say it loud. Lincoln shook his head. "But she looked _exactly _like you! She _behaved_ like you! She…"

"Linc, we've already talked about the doppelgänger thing, haven't we?"

"Yeah, but meeting one is one hell different from simply hearing of one!" Lincoln had started pacing to and fro in Nina's lab, what seemed to annoy the scientist to no ends. But she didn't say anything, just stood there, scowled and watched; her arms crossed.

"Okay, okay, I'm starting to get it. They started the mess and now we're paying for it because cracks and rifts open up in our reality. But the Secretary wants to destroy them by blasting them somehow, with this strange machine you left them, Liv, and therefore we have a shield so we won't take damage as well. The other Olivia is back home and searching for a way to stop us from destroying her world and we're… Well, what's our job in this sick mess?"

Nina and Charlie both threw Olivia an inquiring glance.

"I get it, I get it!" She hissed. "We're not going to destroy them even though they _started_ destroying us. We're looking for a way to save them because destroying one universe could mean many other, _possibly _existent universes would collapse as well. Right?"

"Could you destroy_ hundreds _of worlds only to save _one_?" Nina asked, her voice soft. "There are millions of people on the other side alone. You even got to know some of them. Would you want their blood on your hands? Isn't the price too high?"

Everyone looked at Olivia. Charlie couldn't tell what the woman was thinking but he literally felt her inner conflict. After what seemed like eternity she looked away.

"You're right," she whispered almost inaudibly. "The price is too high."

Charlie almost sighed in relief. Nina seemed to have found the right words. For a long, long while, they remained quiet. Lincoln, as so often, was the one to break the awkward silence.

"Hey, Charlie, how on earth did you find her?" He nodded towards Nina. It was a good question. As always, Lincoln's instincts steered them onwards. He couldn't have known Nina was the only person on earth _(this earth, at least) _that could have helped them but he _suspected_ as much.

"I didn't find her. She found me."

Charlie threw a quick glance at the scientist. Nina didn't move a muscle in her face. "I was poking around for information and she contacted me two weeks ago. Nina has access to the main data bank of the Department of National Security and used to work together closely with the people from the Department for Science, Innovation and Progress, the one the Secretary is now using for his plans."

"_Used to_?" Olivia echoed. "Were you kicked out?"

Nina turned towards her. "I left." The aged scientist shrugged, seemingly careless, but her eyes shone coldly.

"Let's just say Walter Bishop has experimented with things he never should have touched. And he will pay for it. Whatever he had to go through - he had no _right._"

After he had met her, Charlie had immediately started a research on Nina Sharpe. It had taken him some days – and some help of people who owed him one or two favors – but now he knew the reason for her deep hatred towards Walter Bishop. Too many children had left their lives in order to make one man able to achieve his goal. Cecilly Sharpe hadn't even been given the chance to turn two.

"And you're still allowed to stay here?"

"Walter Bishop is a calculating man, girl. He keeps his friends close and his enemies even closer. I'm an outcast, too valuable to be allowed to walk freely, too dangerous to let go at all, but of no help when it comes to his little games since I refuse cooperation and he has nothing left to force me to do so. Anyway, this way I can do something helpful, can't I?"

"Why didn't you just leave?"

"Where should I go? This world is controlled by the United States of America. And who controls the United States?"

"So you're afraid?"

"Fine," Lincoln interrupted the dialogue before two women could jump at each other's throats. "So now we know we're all in the same boat and we're good. But what will we do now?"

And that, Charlie knew, was _the _question he had been brooding over for the last weeks.

_What are we supposed to do now?_

At least, he now had a team he could work with. And, now, he _knew_ with iron certainty that he wasn't wrong. He had seen the effects the disruption between their two universes had caused and still caused. He had seen it with his own eyes: His truth wasn't the only one, as his world wasn't the only one. Sitting back and watching someone destroy another universe was something he couldn't accept. He knew Olivia on the other side was working hard to do the same as he did on his side. Maybe they'd find another way.

Maybe they'd all die.

At least he now knew what he would die for.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry, Misery's Toll! This chapter was written before I read your message, so... _


	15. From the Shadows

**Nothing but Lies, XV**

_Summary: xv. From the shadows. Phillip Broyles always was a good observer. He watches as his team grows back together while the apocalypse draws nearer. _

_A/N: Here's my Easter present to all who read this story. Nothing much happens in this chapter, I fear, but I like Broyles and he needs some attention now and then! _

_Also, I apologize for the wait. I'll give my best to go back to my weekly updating rhythm... I planned five or six chapters to wrap up this story. I hope it'll work out! Also, by the way, I noticed some things: ch.14 has the exact same number of words as ch.13. It received ~150 hits this month - and I received 2 or 3 reviews! Thank you, especially Misery's Toll, for still following the story. It makes me really, really want to write better and more chapters!^^_

_On we go._

* * *

The barrier is gone. He notices on Thursday.

* * *

On _Monday_, Phillip Broyles receives a phone-call. The sound of his ringing mobile is loud in the little office he occupies and he almost jumps, having been caught in his own thoughts. He quickly checks the watch: It's almost three in the afternoon. Again, he has spent a day without achieving anything, without having a realistic solution to his current problems. He has talked to many people, scientists, politicians and likes, and he has found he has been defending his team and himself right from the beginning. There wasn't anything else to say anymore, people knew what he'd tell them and yet they called and stole his precious time. The President. The Head of the FBI. National Security. But they knew as well as he knew – even though he has to tell them again and again – that there is nothing he can do than to continue in his research and work his people down to the bone. There is a lot the US is used to – terrorist attacks and bomb threats, tsunami and earth-quakes and more. But this isn't something they can fight against. They are under attack from another universe and nobody can retaliate, nobody can counter-attack. They just can wait and watch the damage spread and try to keep it as small as possible but there is nothing they can _do. _

It's Agent Farnsworth.

She sounds breathless and somehow… Strange. If he hadn't lost his optimism yet he would have said she sounded _hopeful. _She calls to ask him to attend a meeting and in her haste she has to try two times until he gets what she means. Immediately, he feels something he has almost buried entirely spark.

They have something to do, and there are new revelations to discuss. Phillip doesn't think he ever drove so fast.

Agent Dunham, Agent Farnsworth and Walter and Peter Bishop are assembled in the Bishops' new laboratory at Massive Dynamics. The smell of coffee and donuts almost drains out the chemicals and the scent of something burnt. He immediately notices the _energy _they all seem to emit – as if they had found a new source of hope, some other way to save their universe.

They don't, but they have news. Olivia tells him about Agent Francis from the Other Side and how she thinks this new development will influence their fight. Astrid and Walter inform them on the fact that they are researching on a way to close the rifts that have opened Over There. Peter contributes by adding his knowledge on the Device and how he is trying to influence it.

They don't find _the_ solution. They don't even find _a_ solution. But they talk and discuss and argue until late into the night and when Phillip Broyles finally leaves the building he feels something like _hope._

There is a way.

* * *

On _Tuesday, _Phillip visits Peter Bishop's lab and, to his great surprise, finds the scientist and IT specialist isn't alone. There is a girl with him, barely twenty-five years old, who watches his every move concentrated and seems to be doing minor works.

"Good Morning, Mr. Bishop."

"Agent Broyles!" Peter appears from under the device, his face smeared with machine oil. Wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, he throws a look at the girl. "I'll be right back, Alexandra."

The girl nods, not looking up from a piece of the machine she is cleaning.

Together, they leave the room and Phillip finds himself on a round-walk that runs along the huge lab. From up here he has a perfect view on the device.

"Did you acquire an assistant?" he inquired. Peter shakes his head and gives a helpless chuckle. "Her name's Alexandra Schuhmacher. She walked in on me one day and asked whether she could help. Since she was watching me anyway I gave her minor tasks and it seems she has quite a mind for technical jobs. She's a good girl."

Philipp waits, but Peter doesn't say more. So he asks, instead. "How much does she know?"

"Nothing." The answer comes fast. Almost too fast.

"I told her it's a puzzle, nothing more. I won't drag her into this."

Phillip nods, waits just long enough for his message to sink in and then changes the topic.

"How's it going?"

"I don't know," Peter answers honestly. "It's an old machine. There are complements made from material not even Walter was able to identify, they don't seem to exist on our side. But it's a powerful tool, as well. Depending on how applied, it probably can be used to protect or to destroy. I'm working on the protecting side, of course."

"Do you know how to use it?"

Peter squirms.

"I would have to test it but I don't think we'd be able to test it on a small scale. You remember Walternate's experiments?"

Phillip doesn't really need help to remember the train crashes, the collapsing bridges and the many dead. It is a purely rhetorical question.

"He wasn't able to test it in small scale, either. Maybe, if we could identify where he'd strike next, we could configure it so it would shield the same place and we could watch the effects…"

"That sounds pretty vague to me."

Peter sighs. "It is."

* * *

On _Wednesday, _Phillip pays a visit to Nina Sharpe. She still sits in her sterile, white office, her artificial hand on her desk in front of her, and she stands as he enters. Her red hair seems too colorful in her otherwise bare office but, as always, it suits her. She rounds the desk to kiss him.

"Phillip. It's good to see you."

They haven't seen each other for some time. Her lips feel cool and he doesn't return her affection. She is a pretty woman, sometimes kind, sometimes cruel. Only today, he sees her with other eyes: she seems artificial to him, as artificial as her hand. Her hair is colored where strands have turned grey. Her face is wrinkled and, though still attractive, somehow _wrong._ Phillip knows she puts great effort into her makeup but suddenly wonders whether she would look prettier without it. His left hand in his pocket grabs the photograph tighter.

"Nina."

She doesn't seem to notice his behavior is different than usual. Maybe it isn't.

"Would you like some tea?" She already has crossed her office. Hidden in a cabinet is a little coffee machine and a water boiler. She doesn't need to ask how he likes his green tea. She knows him. _He_ knows her, too.

"Thank you."

They regard each other from above the rims of their cups. Nina's red hair shines in a ray of sunlight until the automatic blinds in front of the great window of her office close with a soft, continuous humming. She doesn't seem to notice it but Phillip, as usual, suppresses his surprise.

"What brings you here?" She asks. Deliberately careful, he puts down his cup.

"We need to discuss something."

Nina gets up and walks to the window. Her shoulders are taught as she comes to a halt, looking out of the window with her back to him. She speaks without turning.

"I am different from normal women, Phillip. There is no need to be careful not to hurt my feelings."

He gets up, too, not to move closer but to be polite.

"I know."

Silence haunts them, painful and cool. Why this ever started he does not know, how he ever got involved with this strong woman he has no idea. He just knows it wasn't meant to last.

"You cannot break up with me."

"Excuse me?"

"You cannot break up with me because we never had a relationship. We had shared interests and mutual needs. But you cannot tell me there was more than that." She laughs dryly. "You never lie, Phillip, however cruel the truth is. It's what I liked in you."

"We need Massive Dynamics and you."

"You see? Once upon a time it was "I need you". Then it became "We need you" and "We need you and Massive Dynamics". Now, it became "We need Massive Dynamics and you". The past is the past and people who don't move with the flow drown in it. Massive Dynamics and I are still at your disposal, Agent Broyles."

"Thank you."

She gives him a fleeting smile as he leaves and he can't help but wonder whether Nina Sharpe is ever surprised by something.

Or hurt.

The picture in his pocket slowly fades from touch and glance.

* * *

They are all in the lab on _Thursday_. Olivia, Astrid, Walter, Peter and he. And he notices it slowly: the barrier is gone.

It has been a hard time for all of them. Before Olivia had been abducted Phillip would have called them a great team. They had learned to work together, to rely on each other, and it had worked out – somehow. Then Olivia had been replaced by an impostor and Peter and she had started a relationship and everything had happened so slowly it seemed to melt together. And yet the time flew by. And when their Olivia returned it all broken apart, for the obvious reasons. She avoided Peter while Peter tried to edge closer. Astrid melted to the edge in order to become invisible. Walter was torn by grief, hate, desperation and fury and threw himself into his work. And Phillip… Phillip was what held them together but his pull was far too weak. They drifted apart, slowly and steadily, and he feared they would break.

It would all go down the drain.

But today it feels different. So strange and yet so familiar.

"Walter, tell them what you found out."

Their very own mad scientist clears his throat and sets to talk. "As you all know, Asterix and I have been working on a way to tell where the next tests of my unfortunately evil twin will take place…" He bounces towards a strange contraption that hung from the ceiling. "We found that in every place a strange energy signature was found that led us to believe the Other Side was experimenting on building up an energy shield. Its function, presumably, is to protect them from any upcoming repercussions that might take place when they destroy our side – what, as I would like to add, they fully intend to do rather sooner than later."

"Walter," Olivia reminds him impatiently.

"Yes, yes, I was getting to the point!" The scientist exclaims. "I would merely like to remind my fellow colleagues that the chance of surviving an attack on our side is one hundred and twenty thousand to one and…" His son rolls his eyes.

"Walter, the point…"

"Oh yes, yes. As you know, Walternate intends to use the device Peter is currently working on in order to destroy our world from the inside, so to speak. But Peter may have found a way to counteract that plan…"

Peter shrugs uncomfortably. Almost two years in the Fringe Squad and he still doesn't seem comfortable presenting his results. Phillip feels a little smile tug at his lips. Peter reminds him of himself, sometimes: strong and determined and yet born to do work from the shadows, to watch from the shadows rather than to observe openly.

"I have tried to reconfigure the programming. It's taken me weeks to do so – and it's still incomplete. The machine reacts to my touch and to my thoughts, sometimes, but the concept is still unclear and incomplete."

"What do you need?" Olivia asks, standing on the other side of the lab and watching them intently. The cool she had shown towards Peter has almost gone entirely. Her eyes aren't full of pain and hurt anymore though some traces still linger in the corners of his field of vision, barely out of reach.

"If something is missing in order to make the machine a shield, Walternate probably hid it well enough so we'd never find it," Astrid contributes.

"If he hasn't destroyed it entirely," Olivia adds darkly. Peter shakes his head. "He wouldn't destroy his invention. He would have hid it, and hit it well, Astrid is right."

"We're looking for a needle in a haystack, really," Phillip concludes and Walter nods. "Isn't there a way to find it, and find it quickly?"

Everyone looks at each other in a desperate search for an answer. There is none.

"How did you find the other pieces?" Olivia asks. When Astrid and Peter both start to argue, she holds up her hand. "I know the gist. I read the reports. But maybe you missed a few coordinates?"

"We checked every batch of the radio code," Astrid says, her voice doubtful. "I don't think there is something we missed."

"Walternate _wanted_ you to find the pieces, he didn't want you to find what's missing," Olivia reminds them. Silence falls as they all try hard to think of something. Finally, Peter sighs.

"It's no use. Maybe I should go back and talk to-"

"NO!" Three voices answer in unison. Walter looks scared. Astrid looks shocked. Olivia looks like a ghost.

"There has to be another way," Phillip says.

* * *

On _Friday_ they search for it relentlessly.

And the feeling of urgency increases tenfold.


	16. Fire and Heart

**Nothing but Lies, XVI**

_Summary: xvi. Fire and Heart. Are we allowed to fight fire with fire? Peter, Alexandra, a machine that can either kill or protect and a million of different ways to save the world._

_A/N: Hello again, and welcome to ch.16 of NbL! I like this one, I really do^^ As usual, the plot progresses sloooooooowly, but hey! Misery's Toll likes it and if she does I'm okay with it, too! I hope anyone else reading this isn't too disappointed.(Anyone who feels addressed?)  
_

_And my thanks goes to Asesina, too, who never logs on but who comments on the chapters anyway and makes my day!^^ Thanks a lot!  
_

* * *

He was remarkably good at hiding his thoughts. Hers were written on her face.

He had the feeling he was older than he looked like. She looked as young as she was.

Yet as much as Peter tries to deny it, they have something in common.

* * *

"Peter?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"All this _Saving-the-world-_stuff. It's not your fault Walter messed up two universes. It's not your fault your father is going crazy and trying to destroy the world."

"What do you mean?"

"You could just go back to your side and you'd survive. I mean, I'd miss you, but I'd be dead anyway."

"You sound like you don't care what happens to you and your world, Alexandra."

"I don't. I do. I… It's unfair, isn't it?"

"Life is unfair. Are you really twenty-four?"

"I know. I sound like ten sometimes, my friends often tell me."

"No, that's not what I meant. You might think your thoughts were childish but really, you have to be quite mature to ask such questions. At least that's what I think."

"Do you feel indebted to our side?"

"_Indebted_? Hmmm… Honestly, I don't feel indebted to this universe at all."

"That's harsh."

"It's the people, Lexa. I don't feel indebted to the universe but to the people. The people who raised me, who cared for me, taught me, fed and clothed me. Who believed in me."

"So for the people here you would sacrifice your original world?"

"No."

"Not even if it's the only way?"

"There is always more than one way."

"But if there isn't."

"There is. We're just working on one."

"But it doesn't work."

"Not yet. But it will."

"We're still missing parts."

"It's only one part. I _feel_ it."

"How?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"Alexandra, I promised not to drag you into this."

"I'm already chin-deep in _this,_ Peter. Please stop treating me like a child because I'm not one anymore."

A sigh. "I tend to forget. I'm sorry."

"Okay, so this machine is supposed to save our universe by creating a shield the same time the Other Side creates one. Isn't that like fighting fire with fire?"

"Sometimes that's the only possibility we have."

"Is it? Have we checked every chance, every opportunity, every possible solution?"

"Of course we have! Alexandra, do you think five experts and a squad of experienced scientists haven't looked for every loophole, for every possible outcome? Fighting fire with fire, as you call it, is a desperate way but the only one open to us right now."

"If a forest is lost to a bushfire, one tries to salvage the bordering woods."

"Do you want to say we are supposed to sacrifice our world in order to allow other worlds to survive?"

"Maybe? Walternate only wants to destroy our universe. If the others leave him be, he will let them be."

"Or he will destroy them just in case they _might_ pose a threat to his world one day. No, that's not the right way."

"There aren't many ways to save our universe, are there."

"No, you're wrong. There are a million of different ways. We could build a machine to destroy the other side quicker than they can destroy us. We could find a rift in their reality to send an atomic bomb over to the other side. I'm sure Broyles has one up his sleeve, or Walter, just in case. We could invent a method to separate different universes from each other so they can't hurt us. We could find some shape-shifters and force them to change sides. We could develop another medicine to enable people to cross the borders and destabilize the Other Side enough to collapse. We could send an assassin over to dispose of Walternate…"

"You're talking about murdering your own father! You're not better than him!"

"Isn't that what you call "fighting fire with fire"?"

"Stop using my own arguments against me."

"You get my point: there are many ways to destroy the Other Side in order to save our side."

"But you would never send Olivia over."

"What? Why?"

"Olivia is the only one who can cross dimensions from our side, right? So if someone would be able to kill Walternate it is her. But you would never send her."

"If it was the only possibility, I would."

"No, you wouldn't. I see the way you look at her. How important is she to you?"

"That's nothing I'd discuss openly."

"And she looks at you the same way. Why aren't you together?"

"A long story that has absolutely nothing to do with you."

"She hesitates before touching you, did you notice? What did you do to make her treat you like this?"

"Alexandra…"

"I wonder whether you…"

"Alexandra, if you don't shut up immediately you're going to lose a job and I'm going to lose an assistant."

"Hmpf."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"She's pretty. And cool."

"You've only met her twice before."

"That's enough for a woman to evaluate another woman."

A chuckle. "Why do you need to evaluate Olivia?"

"I don't. She had to."

"What?"

"You spend most of your day here with me, Peter. Of course she needed to know how I am like."

"Why would Olivia..?"

"Because she loves you?"

"She doesn't. I mean, she did, but…"

"Peter, I only know half of the story because you insist of _keeping me out of this_ but trust me, I can see what she thinks even without knowing the whole story."

"Okay, this is weird. You're barely twenty five and already giving lessons on life."

"Isn't that old enough to know parts of the world?"

"I don't know. I don't feel like I know this part of the world good enough."

"My mother died when I was seven and I took care of my siblings during my father's absence. I daresay I know the world."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? Peter, the world isn't what it looks like. You know that, I know that, Olivia knows that. Fighting fire with fire isn't always the right way but here it might be the only one. There might be many ways to save our world but we don't want to use them. Okay. So we're going to do our best to save it in _our_ way, and we'll succeed. We'll show them we're no bowl of glass that shatters at the slightest touch."

"You're optimistic."

"It's in my nature. Come on, let's continue. We still have to find out what part is missing. We'll put our whole heart and soul into it."

"Aren't we already doing this?"

"I don't know about you but I definitely am. And since it's not enough I'll have to put more into it. That's what humans have a heart for, isn't it? To put it into something fully and entirely. How bad this machine hasn't got one."

"Got what?"

"Listen, Peter. A heart."

"Why should it have a heart?"

"So it can put it into something and…"

"YES!"

"What is it? Peter? Peter! Where are you going? Sheesh, already out of the door."


	17. Beyond the Veil

**Nothing but Lies XVII**

_Summary: xvii. Beyond the veil. Olivia dreams. It's time to act._

_New reviewers!_

_Dear WalterWalternate, I'm sorry I have to reply this way but my computer refused to open the "review reply" page! Thanks for chiming in, as you called it – welcome!^^ I'm glad you enjoy the story. I hope this new chapter won't disappoint!_

_The same happened when I tried to answer your review, Misery'sToll – what's up with you, computer? Thanks, as always, so much for continuing on with me and the story! I'm glad you like Alexandra. She's just my age so I probably transferred a few of my own thoughts onto her – I hope she remained realistic. And really, the last chapter was something like a filler… I hope this one will live up to the expectations I set into it. And if this one won't, the next one will, hopefully!^^ I'm looking forward to it, anyway. _

* * *

_Blue  
_

In her dreams, she is invisible.

Nobody sees her. Nobody hears her. Nobody notices her.

Olivia wanders through the streets of her home city. There are people all around her but they walk right through has as if she doesn't exist. When she crosses a road, a car even _drives_ through her, not _missing _her but _passing through _her. Olivia can see herself in the shop's displays but people stare past her, pointing at this and that and laughing and never once realizing someone is standing in front of them. Her reflection is grey and washed and she seems translucent.

Her office both in the FBI HQ and in Walter's lab aren't hers anymore. It's her name that can be read on the sign at the door but everything screams that it doesn't belong to her. It's wrong. She doesn't own a book on U2. She never visited the concert of the band whose autograph stands right next to a photograph. And she never has visited the place the photograph shows before.

Her apartment isn't hers, either. There are books she'd never read and DVDs she'd never watch and clothes she wouldn't wear. And in her bed two strangers are sleeping peacefully, their bodies entwined.

_You don't belong here, _Ghost-Peter says and smiles at her. _You're a ghost, just like me._

So he is the ghost of a boy who never grew up. And she is the ghost of a person she once was but never will be again.

She wakes up covered in cold sweat and feels sick.

Needing some seconds to realize it already is morning, she grapples for her humming phone.

"Yes?"

"Hey, Olivia."

Her heart rate increases again.

"Peter? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to show you something. Are you ready?"

"No, not yet," she tells him truthfully and takes in her deranged status in the mirror. "Where are you?"

"Ah," Peter says and the usual hint of amusement creeps into his voice. "Here might be the catch."

Her doorbell rings.

Sudden warmth floods her, hot and searing, as she realizes she can hear the echo of her bell from her phone's speakers. The love she feels for him almost pushes her to her knees as it comes back in one great rush. It's probably the aftermath of her nightmare. But it doesn't change the fact that he is _here, _that he has come to see her, and that she loves him.

She still makes him wait in front of her door until she has taken a shower. She brings him coffee in return.

* * *

As every morning, Manhattan Bridge across the East River is packed with cars. Olivia, used to daily traffic jams, leans back, enjoying the fact that for once she doesn't have to drive. Peter curses once and shoots her an apologetic smile. She shrugs, feeling a similar smile tug at her lips. The world might be collapsing but some things still stay the same. Or something like that…

"What's up out there?" Peter suddenly asks, his brows furrowed. Olivia straightens and cranes her neck to see something.

"Where?"

"There, in front of us." Peter gesticulates towards what he sees. And suddenly Olivia _sees_, too. Her phone rings the same instant. She's already out of the car and on her way as she answers, breathless from anxiousness. "Dunham."

"Where are you?" Broyle's voice, calm, collected, full of need for haste.

"Already there."

"Good. I'll see you soon."

There is something she has to tell him _now. _"Sir, Peter finished the machine."

"Well, that's something. I'll be there in half an hour."

He doesn't mean the lab, or her office, or one of their usual meeting places. He means the place Olivia is in right now and as she takes in the scene she feels like every last bit of air has been knocked out of her lungs. What Olivia sees is:

_Nothing._

_Nothing_ because there is a void, _nothing_ because something that was _there_ now is _gone. Nothing _means _something _is missing. _Something_ is different, _something_ that was there for her whole life now has disappeared. And thousands of New Yorkers feel the same horror Olivia feels pulsing through her veins.

Because there is a huge, terribly still void in the middle of the East River.

* * *

_Red_

"That bastard! That sick, horrible bastard!"

Lincoln was so shaken he couldn't even swear with his usual fervor. And even if he could he wouldn't have been able to because he, Charlie and Olivia were standing in one of the huge press conference rooms of Lady Liberty, watching the Secretary smile and shake hands and answer stupid questions. The room was packed with people.

"I can't believe he did this!"

Olivia, next to him, was utterly quiet. Charlie threw her a worried look and shook his head. He was just as angry as Linc was – perhaps even a bit more. Why hadn't he seen it coming? _Of course_ the Secretary wouldn't tell them the whole plan. _Of course not._ They only were some kind of tool to the mightiest man of their time – and he had used them excessively.

As the Secretary of State shook hands, smiled and answered questions, he slowly drifted away from the three agents standing in a corner of the room. They were left to themselves, clustered together like birds in winter. Lincoln looked down on the bay that stretched as far as they could see. Blue water, glistening in the afternoon's late sunlight. Calm ocean wherever one looked. How strange was the feeling that something still was missing! The black, timeless void that had risen so threateningly from the waters was gone. Without any trace. And people were worshipping Walter Bishop, the man who had brought peace to their country.

"We managed to remove most of the Amber Areas," Charlie heard his voice. "The first victims are gaining consciousness, I was told. In a few months, nothing will ever remind us of the fact that we once were under attack."

"Doesn't he feel brilliant," Lincoln grated. "Liv, say something!"

Olivia looked up, her eyes full of ice. "You know what he did with the void and all the amber areas?"

They both nodded. "It's over there, now." "Just as Nina has predicted."

"Damnit!" Olivia's outburst came so suddenly some reporters and other guests turned towards them irritated. She glared at them and they turned their backs on them quickly. "I should have known he was fooling us! A machine to shield us, what utter nonsense! He planned on doing that right from the start!"

"Olivia, don't blame yourself," Charlie said as his earpiece gave a small ring. He held up his hand. "Wait a sec." Thumbing his transmitter on, he turned from them. "Yes?"

Lincoln and Olivia waited in silence until he ended the call without having said much. He looked at them searchingly.

"Everything's in place. Are you two ready?"

Lincoln and Olivia nodded. "Nina?" Lincoln asked. Charlie nodded. "She got everything we need."

"We need a huge amount of luck."

"That was the only thing she couldn't get."

Lincoln sighed. "I had the feeling it would get dangerous tonight."

* * *

_Blue_

"You have an idea what happened here?"

They were on a ship of the coast guard, carefully circling the huge void that loomed over them like a black warning sign. A nice replacement for the twin towers they lost. _Not._

Peter nodded and shook his head the same time she did. "If I had to guess I'd say _they_ managed to relocate the rifts onto our side…" He stopped and swore. "Oh, _Damnit._"

"What?" Olivia asked, feeling a terrible sensation of foreboding rise in her chest. "Do you think…"

"Yeah, I think exactly that."

They exchanged terrified glances. Broyles looked from one to the other. "Would you mind sharing your thoughts…" His phone rang, the same time Peter's chimed.

"Peter!" Walter's voice was frantic and far too loud. Olivia could understand him clearly though she stood some distance away. "There are signs of rifts opening all over Manhattan! We don't have time!"

"Walter, slowly. What…"

"Come back, son, quickly! I need you here!" _Clack. Beep-beep-beep._

Broyles snapped his mobile shut as well. "You said your machine could shield us from exactly this sort of problems, Mr. Bishop?"

"Well, I hadn't got the chance to try…"

"We don't have the time," Broyles cut him off. "It has to work. Come on." He called something out to the captain and immediately, the sound of the motors increased in urgency. They made high-speed towards the coast.

"By the way, Mr. Bishop," Broyles asked. "May I ask _how_ you finished the machine? You said something was missing…"

"It was. I realized what it was – well, my assistant gave me the idea, to be honest – and when I replaced the part the machine came to life."

"So?" The dark-skinned agent looked at Peter questioningly. "What was missing?"

Peter smiled, rather embarrassed. "A heart."

"A heart." The agent repeated incredulously.

"Yes. Not _literary_ but the heart piece, so to say. My… biological father hid it away because he couldn't stand the thought of destroying his precious machine forever. It was a part so small he let someone insert it into a piece of jewelry he gave my mother for their fifteenth anniversary."

Olivia, who had already heard the story, listened quietly.

"And your mother gave it to you?"

Peter felt propelled back. Back into another universe, back in time. He had only spent so little time with his mother and yet it felt like it had been an eternity. But his sense of time was off because it felt like it had been right yesterday when it clearly hadn't.

"Yes. I remembered it only yesterday. It fit perfectly."

* * *

"_I still can't believe you're here."_

_His mother's hand was warm and dry. Small and fragile, it laid in Peter's palm. He looked at it because he didn't dare to look her in the face. _

"_You've met your father yesterday, didn't you?" More a statement than a question. He nodded. Elizabeth Bishop smiled and sighed at the same time. _

"_I don't even have to look at you to know what you're thinking, Peter. You think he's obsessed, don't you?"_

"_No, I…"_

"_You weren't afraid of him, were you?"_

"_No, I wasn't – no, really. He just seems so…"_

"_Cool, perhaps?" Her smile was sad and Peter caught himself wanting to touch her face and make her feel better again. Her gaze became remote. "He has become distant. Especially since he started working on this machine of his. And when he was elected Secretary… Well, to be honest, I can't remember the last time he came home before eleven in the evening."_

"_He's a busy man, he's very important," Peter said and realized how hollow his words felt the instant he uttered them. His mother didn't seem to notice._

"_Yes, the world needs him far more than I could ever need him. At least that's what he thinks. And the world is more important than the happiness of his wife."_

_What was he supposed to say?_

_His mother's hand reached up and touched the necklace she wore around her neck. "You know – the last gift he gave me was this pendant. It was our fifteenth anniversary and he wasn't home for dinner, returned only when I was asleep already. The next day he left before I got up. The only thing I found was this."_

_Peter felt his gaze being drawn towards the necklace: a tiny, heart-shaped pendant made of gleaming silver. A blood-red garnet stone was set into the middle. _

"_I thought maybe that meant I still was important to him, but it has been three years since then and he hasn't changed, even become more remote. Still, I wore this heart every day, hoping he'd come back once…" _

_Peter gripped her hands tightly. She smiled at him, finally focusing on him again. _

"_Peter. You're my son, a piece of me." She chuckled. "My heart, so to say." Immediately, she became serious again. "And I know you'll leave me again. Ssshh…" _

_She silenced him before he had the chance to contradict._

"_I can see it in your eyes, my son. You're longing for something you don't have here, for something neither I nor my world can give you. You'll go back, sooner or later, and I want you to take something that'll remind you of the fact that I always, always will love you. No matter where you go, no matter where you are and what you do – you'll always be a part of me."_

_She lifted her hands and unclasped the necklace. Her other hand took his hand and opened it. The necklace fell into his hand, still warm from his mother's body warmth, and caressed his skin like a lover. _

_Elizabeth took his face into her hands. A tear ran down her face but she still smiled. "Peter, I love you."_

* * *

"So we have one thing complete, at least," Broyles said as the ship came to halt at the quays. They climbed off board and made a run towards their cars. Peter sighed. "Doesn't look like _New York_ will still be complete by the end of this day.

Somehow, Olivia feared he was right.

* * *

_Red_

They had planned it out rather well. Not even Olivia could find a loophole in their plan – and she was used to searching for exactly those. The only problem was that, even though there weren't any loopholes, their entire plan was a mere fishnet stocking.

When they first had decided they had to do something, they hadn't known where to start. _Destroy the machine_, Lincoln had offered. _Kidnap the Secretary,_ had been Nina's helpful comment. _Tell the public about the Secretary's little lab experiments _was Charlie's contribution_. _But the machine as well as the Secretary were heavily guarded day and night and the newspapers were firmly in the hands of the State, as were most TV programs and tons of public information. And next came the problem that they just couldn't decide what to do, couldn't agree on a method because they had no idea what the Secretary planned.

"Why does it have to be a machine with the potential to blow up a world instead of a simple toaster," Lincoln had stated one afternoon, and Nina had suddenly looked at him with her grey eyes wide with surprise.

"That's it!"

It wasn't a bad idea, Olivia had to give her credit. Nina's motto was simple: If one couldn't change the entire programming of the machine one just had to alter certain aspects in order to make her do whatever you wanted her to do. If the machine could blow up the other side – why not alter a few things and render her useless? But now, of course, they knew better. Bishop had created a _monster_. This machine of his wasn't only able to bypass frontiers between universes, it could also _alter them. _And that was exactly what scientist and Secretary of State Walter Bishop had just done: he had somehow, indescribably, swapped _their_ reality with _Over There's_ reality. Olivia hadn't wanted to believe it at first but Charlie and she had gone to one of the former amber-encased districts and had found there was more than one sign for the fact that those places once hadn't belonged _Over Here._ The money they found in the people's bags had the wrong pictures printed on it, painfully familiar for her now and yet still _wrong_. Half a car that hadn't been invented yet stood on the sideway. And, worst of all, the streets were clean, mostly intact and _utterly empty_.

No, this wasn't what she had wanted.

With the swapped places came swapped people. Running around heedlessly, afraid, in terror of what was happening. They knew they lived here yet everything looked different. Bishop's people had gunned them down. They didn't need eye-witnesses. The Secretary ordered fifteen people to be executed, four of them little children.

It had happened yesterday, pretty early in the morning, and since then, they had worked and worked and yet never seemed to reach anything. The only thing was that Nina now knew what exactly the machine was programmed to do, so she would, hopefully, be able to finish her little project as soon as possible. And she had managed to finish it, that much Olivia could read from Charlie's face.

With a last look to the Secretary – who was still conversing with a few journalists, a blissful smile on his face – they slipped from the room.


	18. Collide, part 1

**Nothing but Lies, XVIII**

_Summary: xviii. Collide, part 1. Because everything has happened before. _

_Warning: Please note that the universes are shifted regarding their timelines. Our Olivia's universe is a bit behind, it starts off where Altlivia's universe was one day before. Got it? _

_Welcome to newcomers and returning visitors. Thanks to a faithful reviewer. On we go._

* * *

_Blue_

"There is an enormous increase of energy in the area of North Hudson Park," Astrid reported, her voice high with strain. "The satellite images are catching increasing heat waves as well and the seismic activities are increasing per second."

"Peter, can you hear me?" Walter shouted into the phone. Peter, who had clamped his mobile between shoulder and ear, almost let it fall. Olivia caught it and lifted it so the man could continue to talk with his father, who was in his lab at Massive Dynamics. Olivia felt helpless. Now, finally, the time had come she had waited for for so long: _Something_ was happening, and they could _do_ something. Well, _Peter_ could do something. She could only stand and watch and hold his phone.

"I'm almost ready assembling the device," Peter reported. "Could you hand me… Oh, thanks, Lexa."

Alexandra, his assistant, had miraculously appeared from nowhere, handing him a screwdriver. Olivia felt a sting in her chest. Wasn't this _her_ place? She pushed it aside quickly. Now wasn't the time for jealousy. Besides… The girl was barely twenty!

"Liv, do you think this will work?" Peter asked and addressed her directly enough to make her jump. Olivia, pulled from her own thoughts and surprised at the by now unfamiliar use of her nickname, didn't know what to answer first. She thought about each word carefully but no matter how she tried to put it, they couldn't be sure of the outcome.

"You say it will work. I trust you."

Peter banged his head as it shot up to look at her. Something in his eyes made her stomach flutter.

"Really?"

"Agent Dunham, we have to evacuate the area!"

She left, but not without a smile in his direction. Although she couldn't help but wonder what would happen _this _time. It felt like it all had happened before already.

Everything had already happened. Talking to Peter. Feeling his gaze on her like a warm light. Hearing her say her name like that.

Evacuating buildings as a result.

Olivia was sick of it.

"Stay calm, please, don't run! Please don't take more than a small bag each! Leave your houses in an orderly way! Report in at the Police checkpoint closest to you! You will find the checkpoints…"

The loud voice blaring out instructions didn't manage to keep order at all. People were screaming and running, searching for lost family members, trying to argue with police officers.

"We don't have time!"

She didn't need anyone to tell her. She could _feel _it, feel the drawing danger in the way the earth trembled beneath her feet, in the way the air tasted stale and foul. The screaming mass sounded hollow and dull in her ears as she helped an old lady along who insisted in taking her cat. Olivia pretended to listen to her rant while she almost carried her along the street and – relieved and feeling bad for it – left her at the next checkpoint to immediately return to the chaos. It was strange. They had been waiting so long for it – now that the catastrophe really happened it felt like it wasn't such a big deal anymore.

_Wrong, _she reminded herself. Just because she had dulled didn't mean the danger was less real. Her thoughts were emphasized by the loud sound of breaking and the huge crack that appeared in the ground right before her. Two women screamed and fell to the ground, clutching at each other.

"Stand up!" Olivia shouted at them but they were too shocked to move. Thankfully, a young man came running and dragged them away from the abyss. Olivia fumbled for her phone, trying to remain standing, and punched the speed dial.

"Peter? You'd better finish initializing or whatever startup your damn thing needs pretty quick. It's getting hot in here."

He didn't answer and she didn't bother. Another earthquake shook the area, let roof tiles crash to the floor and a tree collapse. The quake threw her off balance. She fell and rolled aside as quickly as possible, which saved her life: a few shingles crashed to the ground exactly where she had been a few seconds before. The air was too thick to breathe. Suddenly, everything seemed to glow: the trees, the houses, the few last people who just left their apartments. Everything bathed in a golden glow that grew brighter and brighter until she couldn't look at it any longer and had to avert her eyes. The world came to a halt: people were frozen in mid-step, mid-sentence, as if time had just stopped. Olivia found it hard to raise her hand but when she managed to do so she saw the golden glow hadn't reached _her_ yet. Behind her, the trees of the alley started to turn to stone. She stumbled to her feet again, ignored her stinging side, her aching body and her labored breath, and _ran. _It was happening _here_, and it was happening _right now. _Peter would be too late.

Peter came to the same conclusion.

"Peter, the energy levels are peaking. It's happening right now! It's too late! Get away from the scene, Peter, quick, the rift is opening…"

Walter's voice was frantic. Ignoring all the other adjustments that yet had to be made Peter thrust his hand inside the glove-like metal compartment and felt the sensors connect with his neuronal system immediately. Still, it took its time until the strange, somehow _artificial_ system connected with his brain. When it did, it greeted him like an old friend. _Shield, _he thought desperately, wondering how he was supposed to make it do what he wanted it to do. After some time that felt like eternity, he received something like an answer. The device seemed mildly surprised, friendly yet distant. It didn't know what he wanted. _Protect this place, damnit! _Another vague statement, then something like an idea. Peter grasped for it frantically. _Yes! _Damn, he should have tried this more often before. The artificial presence of the device was like a child, or like someone who had just woken up from a long dream. It responded to him because he felt _familiar_ – but neither he nor the device had an idea why. Now, the presence leafed through his memories, faster and faster and making him dizzy. _No_, he thought, gathering all his strength. _Not now._ _Help me now._ The artificial presence retreated, albeit grudgingly, and started to collect energy.

"Peter…" Lexa's voice, sad and defeated. "Peter, it's too late."

He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw were his hands, glowing in a strange, white light. Slowly, he lifted his head: the park and all its neighboring streets were encased in molten gold. Half a Porsche was the only thing left outside the amber area. Its front part was encased in stony liquid like anything else.

He looked back down on his hands. _White, glowing._ He didn't feel anything, no pain, no warmth. Nothing. Frowning, he tried to look at Alexandra but couldn't focus on her: his field of vision seemed to sway, to shrink until he only saw his hands, still glowing in a ghostly light. He tried to say something. He felt his lips move, but no sound came out. At the edges of his vision wavered a curious darkness.

"Oliv…"

* * *

_Red_

Lincoln nodded at Charlie. _Clear._ Charlie crept forward, closely followed by Nina Sharpe. Hadn't the situation been so serious, he would have laughed: they were _breaking _intothe_ Statue of Liberty_, for God's sake. Well, whatever, he had more pressing matters to think about.

The dark corridors before them were empty.

It had been easy so far, something that had prompted Lincoln to state difficulties would only increase exponentially as soon as they were inside. The guard outside had been fooled by Charlie's Fringe Department ID and, when leaning over to call the Secretary's assistant for confirmation, had received a blow on his head that knocked him out cold. Lincoln grinned at Olivia, who lifted the corners of her lips a tiny fraction. Then the guard was bound and gagged and hidden in the store room and Lincoln, Olivia, Charlie and Nina were on their way.

The second guard posed a problem, especially since he was sitting behind a bulletproof glass. "How?" Olivia asked and she, Charlie and Lincoln exchanged worried glances. Nina grabbed her by her jacket (grey like everything they wore, grey was perfect for nightly activities while black stood out because of its too-sharp contrast) and jerked her head towards the corner of the building. They followed and she took them to a service entrance, hidden behind a few bushes and something that looked suspiciously like garbage containers.

"I don't have a key, though," she whispered.

"My turn!" Linc sounded like a child that had been given permission to play with someone else's toys. He produced a number of keys and wires from his pocket. For a few minutes he fumbled with the lock, making Olivia and Charlie even more nervous, until the lock clicked and the door swung open. "Ha!" He exclaimed.

"Sssh!" Three voices silenced him. He pulled a face and crept trough the door, a hand covering his flashlight. They followed.

The inside of the building was lit in the dim lights of the emergency exit-signs. Even though they moved as carefully as possible, their steps echoed faintly in the basement corridors. Olivia and Lincoln were at the front, rounding each corner as if they expected a dozen enemies right behind it. Nina Sharpe walked in the middle, only armed with a bag, while Charlie held the rear guard. Every time they moved past another light source, their shadows changed directions. Charlie had to remind himself not to jump at the flickering shadows.

They found a staircase and ascended it. In front of the door, Olivia stopped and put her ear against it.

"I don't hear anything," she whispered. "Let me check whatever is behind it." She threw Charlie a look. He couldn't see her face in the darkness but nodded. Pressing down the door-handle gently, she snuck outside and closed the door. Breathless, Charlie and the others waited.

Olivia didn't see anyone as she closed the door, her gun ready in her hand. The beam of her flashlight shone down the corridor in front of her. Right or left? She decided for going right and crept down the corridor carefully. _Restroom. Broom closet. Storage room. _There it was: an emergency plan, one of the maps of buildings used to mark every emergency exit, every fire extinguisher, every first aid-kit. Thankfully, it was accurate enough to show her where they were and where they would have to go. She tried to remember her position – sometimes she wished she had an absolute memory, like _other_ Olivia had – and slowly crept back. The sound of the toilet flushing made her freeze for a millisecond. The basement door was too far away. She tried the storage room: locked. The lady's room was on the other side, she wouldn't reach it in time. She positioned herself directly next to the men's room door, gripping her gun tightly, her heart racing. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, crystallizing every single edge and corner.

A guard left the men's room.

Stepping up behind him, Olivia brought down her gun with all the strength she could muster.

Lincoln stiffened.

"Something's happened," he whispered. Charlie and Nina exchanged glances. "I'll check it out," Linc said when the door opened and Olivia stared down at them. She beckoned them to leave the stairwell. "Come on, quickly."

"What happened?" Charlie asked. She shrugged.

"A guard. I handcuffed him in the lady's room. I know where we are." She turned left. "This way."

They followed her.

The nearer they came to their destination, the more they had to stop and wait for guards to pass them unnoticed. When Charlie already thought it was a bit too easy to sneak into the Secretary's private labs, they encountered their first obstacle. They neither had time to prepare nor to hide. Suddenly, footsteps were approaching them from left and from right. Standing in a junction of three corridors, nothing but a dark, door-less hall behind them, they froze, knowing they had no chance to remain undiscovered.

Olivia and Lincoln moved to stand back to back. Two shots, quick in succession, muffled by their silencers. Two guards went down with one noise of surprise.

"Damn!" Olivia and Linc swore simultaneously. Nina gave a snort. "Did you kill them?"

"Of course not," Linc replied, almost hurt. "We used special munitions, darts filled with sedative."

Another silent snort. "They wouldn't have been so kind."

"Come on," Charlie interrupted.

They encountered more guards on their way. The building they were currently in still was one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the world and the number of guards seemed insurmountable. They left behind a clearly visible trace of limp bodies and Charlie felt the tension rising in his chest. When they reached a pair of heavy steel doors, he almost sighed in relief although he knew they weren't through by any means.

Nina shoved her way to the door between Charlie and Olivia and pulled a device out of her sack. Quick and skillfully, she started connecting a tiny screen to the mechanic security lock hidden in a panel in the wall.

"Whoever programmed this, he's good," she mumbled and hacked into the keyboard of her touch-screen. "This probably will even take me some time… Ah, yes… I see, the old man hasn't changed…"

Somehow it was strange listening to the scientist muttering about old people while she herself was beyond sixty. Lincoln peeked over her shoulder while Charlie and Olivia guarded them left and right.

"Are you a computer specialist, too?"

"Call it by its name: I'm a hacker," Nina said absently. "I've had lots of time on my hands for the last years. And plenty of motivation." She stopped for a while and then continued: "I can only disable the lock for a few seconds before security alerts will be sent to the guard room. My override codes are too old. I can give you seven seconds, maybe ten. You go in and wrap this up."

"What about you?"Charlie asked before any other one of them could open their mouths. Nina smiled tightly. "You don't need me as soon as you're inside. Just take this –" She produced another device from her pocket, a machine the size of a fist. "It carries the virus for Bishop's machine. Just plug it into the main computer and it will install itself by its own."

"But you can't…"

"I need to," she interrupted Lincoln sharply. "I have to reprogram the doors once you're inside, otherwise they'll report our tampering. Don't worry about me, just stop this man from killing even more people!"

Charlie looked at her, long and hard, and nodded. Olivia took a deep breath. "Charlie…"

"Open the door for us, Nina," he said and ignored her. "We'll finish what we've come for."

Nina Sharpe smiled and returned to her computer. "Ten seconds," she told them. "Five.. Four… Three… Two… One!"

The door slid open with a hiss.

Cursing, Olivia slid through it, throwing herself to the ground the same instant she saw three uniformed guardsmen jump up from their chairs, grabbing for their guns. Lincoln followed quickly behind her but she had already leveled her gun at the first man, aimed and shot. He went down immediately, stuck by the neuronal tranquilizer they were equipped with. The second managed to pull his weapon and a bullet grazed past her so closely she could feel its heat. The third man attempted to hit the alarm and Lincoln launched himself at him, hitting him square in the face. Silvery liquid spilled from the broken nose. "Damn!" Linc cursed, somewhat thrown off balance. "What the hell…" Olivia rolled to the side, trying to take cover, and saw the first shape-shifter pick himself up from the floor again. By the time he had done so, Charlie had slipped into the room and shot him a second time, buying Olivia time to roll out of the way and take aim at the second one. By now, here were too many bullets in the room and she dimly wondered why the alarm hadn't been triggered yet. _Ah, Nina._ Probably the woman had seen to that, as well.

"They're immune to the tranquilizer," she called at Linc and Charlie and launched herself at the heavy desk in the middle of the room. She managed to tip it over and they covered behind it.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Lincoln swore as he quickly exchanged the sedative darts for his normal munitions. Then, he whirled around. "Cover!"

Over Olivia's and Charlie's head, he aimed three times, shot three times, and every time, a shape-shifter went down. Suddenly, the room was silent.

Carefully, Olivia peeked around their hide. The guards lay on the ground, their eyes glazed over, silvery pools forming around them. Droplets of mercury formed into little balls and rolled in every direction. She pulled a face and looked at her colleagues.

"Are you alright?"

Charlie and Lincoln nodded. Charlie had a nasty graze wound on his left arm and Lincoln looked positively shaken but his hand was steady. The door through which they had come was closed. No sound was heard, no alarm had tripped. Seemed like they had gotten through relatively unhurt.

"Okay," Charlie said and got up. "Let's go."

Another steel door awaited them on the other side of the room. A panel next to it blinked, waiting for the password.

"Umm."

The same instant, the door opened from the inside. Lincoln beamed at the guard who suddenly found himself face to face with three agents, all bloody and torn and thoroughly _not_ in the mood for another exchange of pleasantries. His left hand went to his earpiece as his right grabbed for his gun.

Olivia's dart hit him right in the chest, quickly followed by Charlie's punch in the face and Linc's bullet. The man went down like a sack of stones. The way was free.

While Lincoln and Olivia scanned the room for potential threats, Charlie scanned the machine for the main computer Nina had indicated at. It still was exactly the same way he remembered it being: a terrifying, grey steel monster with tubes and cables leading everywhere. Only the main part was lighted and he could see the monitor clearly. Carefully, he stepped closer, while Olivia and Lincoln backed him. Linc's gun was still firmly in his grip while Olivia used the short time to replace her own munitions.

When Charlie stepped to the computer and touched the screen, words lit up.

_Welcome back._

Exchanging estranged glances with his colleagues, Charlie shrugged and searched for a way to connect the device Nina had given him to the main computer. There was none. Frowning, he regarded the machine from all sides. Still, nothing. Olivia spoke into his ear and almost made him jump.

"Let me try something."

She took the device and placed it into his left hand firmly. He winced when the injury stung. Then, she took Charlie's other hand, lead it towards the screen and set it onto it squarely. For a second, nothing happened.

Then, the machine came to life with a faint rumble.

"Stay like that," she told him and Charlie clenched his teeth. "Funny," he grumbled. "That _stings._"

"You're a walking conductor, I guess," Linc snorted, trying to sound funny but failing.

_Warning,_ the machine told them. _Unauthorized Access. Initiating Sequence Delta One._

"Umm," Linc said. "That doesn't sound good…"

_Warning. Polarization Failed. Energy Overload. _

Charlie tried to tear away his hand as the stinging sensation became worse and a hollow alarm went off. He found it impossible. "I don't think this is going as planned," he said in between clenched teeth. "Olivia?"

He started.

Olivia was gone.

And then she was right back, looking like a ghost. In her right hand, she held a crystal ball with the skyline of another Manhattan.


	19. Collide, part 2

**Nothing but Lies, XIX**

_Summary: xix. Collide, part 2. Because this is the end. _

_Warning: Please remember that the timelines of the two universes diverged until halfway through the last chapter. They still do but will catch up with each other soon. _

_And… I've been working on this chapter since March and it wouldn't get anywhere. And suddenly – there it was, two weeks ago. And it feels just right to me. I hope you'll enjoy it as well. _

_Oh, Misery's Toll… I love you, too! *laugh* I'm so sorry I can't answer your reviews – beats me, my computer won't open the review reply page. Annoying! So here is Collide, part 2. I'm so happy you enjoy my version of Olivia! To be honest, I really grew to like her as well. But I don't know whether she's a full product of my imagination or whether I get her somewhat into canon. I heard the last episode of season 3 has aired a few weeks ago… I hope you enjoyed it! We're nearing the end with this chapter, I realized, and it feels like the ending comes too fast. You'll probably see what I mean after reading this chapter but there are still two more to come. Or one, at least, because I like the idea of having exactly 21 chapters^^ Thank you so, so much for keeping my spirits up with your reviews. _

* * *

_Blue_

"I don't think…"

"I don't care! Just do it!"

"Olivia, we don't know what happened to Peter. He still is linked to the device and hasn't woken for forty hours. We cannot tell what…"

"You sent me into John's mind! I was in other people's heads, I was on the Other Side, I don't care what happens, just take me to where he is!"

"Agent Dunham. The situation is bad enough here. The city's in panic, amber just keeps appearing. We can't estimate the number of casualties…"

"And we can't do anything against it, Sir. Our only chance is the machine. Only Peter can help us! I have to get him back."

"We don't know what happened when he used the device. For all we know it could have scrambled his brainwaves and is trapped in his own mind. We won't achieve anything by sending you after him and…"

"Walter." Olivia rounded the table and grasped both of the old man's hands. They were trembling in hers, grey, dry and wrinkled, and suddenly she realized she had been afraid of him. On a subconscious level she had feared him, had feared this man who had altered space and time and had inflicted a terrible fate onto another universe just for the sake of saving this one child. She had been afraid of his evil counterpart, a man who showed the same brilliance and determination as Walter Bishop but lacked his haphazard awkwardness and the uncanny ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong moment, who looked like the man with an annoying habit of wanting sweets in the middle of the night, of making embarrassing remarks and switching topics in between sentences but who wasn't him. Instead he had a certain coldness that allowed him to pull through with whatever he had started until the bitter end. He wanted to protect his universe and he didn't care that another one would have to be sacrificed for that means.

_Another one. _

She sucked in air sharply as the thought occurred to her: William Bell, Walter Bishop, Nina Sharpe – they always had spoken about _two_ universes, about _two _worlds. About _your_ and _our_, about _them_ and _us._ But if there were _two_ worlds already, didn't that mean that there was the simple if breathtaking fact that there had to be _a million_ of other worlds out there? Other universes in which people like her existed, people who went after their own business, people who loved and lived, worked and dreamed just like people in her world? Maybe there was another world out there in which her mother was still alive, a world in which she had met Peter in college or a world in which John had never died. There was a host of possibilities. So many people, so many lives! So many lights in the black infinity of the universe. And each person was a person of her own right, maybe similar to her mirror image in another universe but not the same. Never the same.

The thought was overwhelming.

Olivia numbly became aware of the slightly shaking hands she was still grasping and looked up to meet Walter Bishop's colorless eyes. No, she wasn't afraid anymore. Not of the man in front of her. Not of his other self, not of what she felt for Peter, not even of what she was about to do. She turned, slowly, and cast a glance in the direction of the farthest corner of the lab.

"It all comes back to one thing, really. We need the machine, and only Peter can control it. We need Peter. And I know you can connect me to him, Walter. People are dying. We have to hurry."

* * *

_White_

_Warm. _

Peter felt warmth all around him though he couldn't explain why or where if came from. He was floating – somehow, and he didn't want to think about it more closely – and was trying to get a grip on the happenings. One moment he had been watching as a New York district became encased in amber. The next second he was here, hovering around, looking down at what _looked_ like his device but what _felt_ like the presence of a child.

Unfocussed. Distracted. Pure - and cruel in its innocence.

If this was the machine's consciousness it was nothing like he had expected it. His heart gave a painful lurch as he realized that he wouldn't be able to use it the way it was. This machine couldn't protect anyone, not even itself.

How long had he been here? He needed to go back. The machine was of no use, he needed to go back and help Olivia to find another solution. There had to be a way, somehow, to save them, he couldn't give up now. Ineffectively trying to push away the sense of failure, he willed himself to wake up.

_Wake up. Damn, Peter, there's no time!_

The tentative poke at the sphere that was his consciousness startled him badly. Something – maybe his movement – had caught the interest of the machine. Going still once again, Peter glanced down. But the machine's mind had turned to something else yet again. Bitterness flooded him. It was like a child, really – easy to distract, impossible to hold its attention for long and stubborn to a degree that made him want to rake both his hands through his hair and _pull_.

_And useless, of course. _

He had to get back, and had to get back _fast_. Olivia was waiting for him.

* * *

_Blue_

"Walter, are you sure about this?"

Astrid looked at the old scientist, suspicion bright in her eyes. He nodded vigorously. "Yes. Yes, I am, don't worry!"

Astrid shot a quick glance to the far end of the lab where Olivia already was waiting, only in her top and training pants. It was a familiar sight but somehow she felt uneasy about it today. Maybe because it was the first time they did something like this in their new lab at MD's. Maybe because she was sick of seeing Olivia put herself in danger because _someone_ had to.

Still, the cocktail of drugs Walter was just concocting caught her suspicion and caused her professional paranoia to peak.

"Don't you think that's an a _bit_ too… generous amount of stimulants?"

Walter, eyes on the syringe in his hand, only shook his head vigorously.

"Olivia has made many journeys," he said. "She can even cross in between universes without our help now. She's the connection, the gate, Astrid, and now the gate wants to walk through itself to reach the other side. She will need everything she can get to make it."

"But you've done this before," Astrid almost spluttered. The fact that he had used her name correctly planted fear into her heart even more effectively than seeing her world encased in amber had done. "You've sent other people into other people's minds. It's not that dangerous, isn't it?"

Walter just gave her one, long look and then strode off towards the other side of the laboratory. Astrid followed, suddenly feeling old and afraid.

_Very_ afraid.

* * *

_Blue_

Phillip Broyles wasn't a man to swear. He wasn't a man who became angry quickly.

But looking at the place that once had been a lively street and now was a cold grave, he felt white-hot rage rise in his chest. _One more._ How long would this continue? Would it never end? No, of course it would end. It would end as soon as every street of New York was covered by _Over There's_ stony liquid. Because then, their world would collapse.

He turned his back on the picture and concentrated on the living. If he hated one thing it was the feeling of absolute helplessness he felt right now.

* * *

_Red_

_Warning. Security alert._

This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

Behind them, doors slammed open and guards stormed into the room. Lincoln and Olivia immediately moved to cover Charlie's back, their two guns a pathetic challenge to the ten armored, armed and ready-to-kill soldiers. Charlie stared onto the computer screen which still flashed in a ghostly red light. The whine of the alarm sounded like child's wail. His hand went from itchy to _man, that hurts._ He refused to drop the device but it fell from his hands nevertheless.

The world shook.

The soldiers behind him didn't matter. The guns in their hands didn't matter. The fact that they had been discovered didn't matter – nothing mattered anymore. Charlie swayed and caught hold on Linc's arm. His vision darkened and turned too-bright, seemed to waver and to expand, to shrink and to fold. Lincoln's legs buckled, too, and from the corners of his eyes he saw Olivia trying to hold herself upright on the machine. He saw a dark corridor lit by emergency lights. He saw another door at the other end of the lab burst open and the Secretary stride towards him, a look of absolute fury on his face, his mouth open to yell. No sound reached his ears, though. Olivia's hand let go of the snow ball she had been holding and it crashed to the floor, shattered into one thousand pieces. Yes, there it was: Charlie saw it, too. _The souvenir shop._ Right behind the wall. He saw it _through _the wall, saw through stone that was there and yet wasn't there. Charlie saw Olivia collapse, saw the soldiers stumbling over each other, trying to take aim, saw the Secretary stagger and stare, disbelieving, and then his fury turned to worry. And to fear.

Charlie smiled.

_This is the end. _

* * *

_In Between_

_It hurt._

It had never hurt before, had never _burned_ like that. Suddenly her blood felt too hot, searing through her veins like molten lava. _It's the drugs_, she told herself feverishly and was wrecked by yet another, fresh wave of pain.

_Oh God._

It felt like leaving behind whatever she was, whatever she had been, and continuing on without anything. _Naked_. Blind, deaf, lame. Her body in flames, she curled up and pressed her fists to her closed eyes. One by one, she was laid bare, like an onion she was stripped of her skin. Layer after layer peeled away until she lay there shivering and raw.

_Get up,_ she told herself. Her legs – or what passed for them – obeyed. Carefully, step by step, she continued on. The sea her father had taken her as a child passed by, and the forest she had run from so often. A souvenir shop. A dark corridor. A cold steel prison cell. She continued on with only one thought in her head and the thought became warmth, became a feeling. Became a song.

_Peter._

The song became an apartment, carefully kept, modern, became a table with papers of drafts of a machine, became a window with a view of the Bay, became a man with brown eyes and dark hair and a heart-breaking smile and Olivia walked forward until she only would have to extend her hand to feel his warmth. She didn't touch him. The song inside her broke out in one word, one beautiful, perfect name.

"Peter."

_Here you are. _The reproach was clear in her eyes and he smiled, embarrassed and surprised.

"What are you doing here? Is this real?"

Shrugging, she scrutinized his face. "Define _real._"

He scratched his head. "A second ago I was hovering somewhere and now I'm in my apartment _Over There_ and you're here." His eyes darkened. "You've come for me."

"You have to come with me." _Because._

"What's going on?"

"Nine amber districts have appeared in New York. There were fourteen in _Over There_. We have to stop them. What about…"

He shook his head miserably. "I don't know why but it's not working."

A noise made them both look up. In the corner of the room, a child was sitting on the floor, fiddling with something they couldn't see. It appeared to be deeply absorbed into it. Olivia and Peter exchanged glances.

"Don't tell me that's…"

"The mind's a wonderful thing, as Walter uses to say."

Olivia sighed. "True. Well, in _this _state the device won't be of any help at all. Peter, quickly, we have to go back…"

"Wait." His voice made her stop in mid-sentence. He looked at her, warm brown and endlessly deep eyes, and Olivia was unable to move. "Olivia. You've _come for me."_

Her brain refused to function. She swallowed, hard. "We're running out of time and someone had to drag you…"

His hand touched her face, finger tips ghosting over her skin like a soft breeze. Her eyes fluttered shut.

"Olivia…" His whispered voice broke at the end of her name, a sound both beautiful and foreign. _Her name_, spoken softly and pleadingly. "I… I know I don't deserve it, but…"

She looked up into his eyes and only saw her own reflection. Reaching up to silence him with a finger to his lips, she smiled. And he was forgiven, just like that. Her eyes were luminous. _Because you belong with me. _Olivia offered herself to him and Peter's lips touched hers, soft and carefully.

_Every gate has a key._

A ringing outburst of wordless joy resounded from the infant in the corner and they were thrown back.

* * *

_Somewhere_

_Somewhere, a door opened._

One universe, two, three, many… It didn't matter. Time seemed to ground to a halt as the barriers became see-through, as the frontiers between universes started to melt into each other. Nobody could have predicted this, nobody could ever have _thought_ of the events unfurling into this direction.

Worlds melted into each other.

_Gate and Key._

"Mommy, there's a woman in our kitchen!" Ella did not sound afraid. Rachel raced into the kitchen nevertheless, another wave of anxiousness crashing over her. Outside her apartment, her world fell apart. "Ella, stay under the table!" There _was_ a woman in the kitchen. Rachel Dunham gave a look at the face she only knew from photographs and stopped dead, clapping both hands to her mouth.

_Hey. You're not dead._ Nina Sharpe found herself face to face with herself. Grey eyes, silver hair and a wrinkled face. Two hands, both natural. A voice, well-known to her. A person from a place so far away and yet so close. A face, too pale to be alive. _Well, might as well live on on the other side. Give Olivia my regards._ The image faded away before she could say anything. All that remained was a dull ache in her chest, as if a bullet had passed right through it.

"Walter?" "Elizabeth. Oh, no, Elizabeth, I'm not…" Walter Bishop stared at the woman as if she were a ghost. Elizabeth Bishop smiled. "So you're the one who saved Peter." Walter nodded. "Elizabeth – Mrs. Bishop – I always wanted to…" "Don't apologize. You saved my son. Thanks to you he's still alive and I was able to see him." They stared at each other. The woman's eyes were full of tears. "Tell me: will he be happy?" "I cannot promise it," Walter answered, his voice hoarse. "But I think he will be." "Then it is fine."

She looked just the way she had when the picture had been taken. The dark-haired, dark-skinned woman was fast asleep, two children curled up on either side of her on the big bed. Phillip Broyles looked down on her, feeling the sharp ache of emptiness in his chest. Unable to move forward or backward, he drank her picture thirstily. It took him some time to realize her eyes were open and _looking _at him. "_Phillip," _her lips mouthed without a sound. Her hand stretched out. Without thinking, he took it.

* * *

"Olivia?"

"Charlie."

"So it really was another you!" Lincoln accused, looking at Olivia. The other Olivia smiled. "You couldn't tell us apart, Linc."

"Damn, she does sound just like you."

"Olivia, what's happening?" Charlie inquired, looking around. The world seemed frozen, a strange picture in grey and white. Olivia shrugged. "It's a long, long story."

She smiled at them, including her mirror image. "Listen, this won't last long. Everything should be set right as soon as this-" she waved her hand – "fades. I can't stay long. I just wanted to say Good Bye."

"But what…"

"Does it matter?"

Her smile was beautiful. Charlie felt a painful tightening in his chest. He hadn't known her for long but he had come to love this woman, as a friend and as a… yeah, as what? As a daughter? As a woman? As a colleague and friend?

Did it matter?

"Will you be okay?"

She smiled, the pain still obvious in her eyes. But there was happiness, too, and hope, and something that told him they _all_ would be alright.

"Take care, Charlie. I'm so happy I was able to meet you again." She turned to Lincoln. "You too, Linc." They exchanged grins. Lastly, she turned to Olivia. The other woman hesitated.

"Olivia…"

She silenced her. "Take care of them for me."

"Olivia," the other woman pleaded. "Olivia, I'm so so-"

"There's nothing to apologize about. You take care, too."

"Will we see you again?" Lincoln asked. Olivia shrugged, a smile on her face. "Probably not. Then again, why not? There is a universe of chances."

* * *

"What _the hell _is going on here?"

"Does it matter?" The machine answered.

Peter frowned indignantly. "I thought you didn't work."

"I didn't before. Now, I am complete."

"How did it happen?"

"She opened the veil."

"Olivia?"

"That is the name humans have given to the gate."

"And then?"

"I became complete."

"The machine my father used on the other side…"

"Was a part of me, yes. I was scattered across the dimensions. And across time, too. It was a long way back."

"So Olivia opened the gate and you were completed and what – you connected the universes to each other?"

"They have been merging together already for a long time. When your father crossed the line first the process was only sped up. There are a thousand of different worlds, Peter Bishop. I was created to restore the balance once everything went out of control. I will set to entangle the universes now. It will only last for another millennium. But I've discovered mankind is resourceful. Maybe, the next time, you will manage to mend the broken borders without me. Farewell, Peter Bishop. You did well."

"Hey, wait, I'm not finished with you! What will happen next?"

"If I knew the answer to your question I wouldn't tell you."

* * *

Olivia took in the picture, trying to burn it into her memories. She saw Charlie, Lincoln and her sister – her other self, her mirror image, _Olivia_ – saw them waver and fade and disappear. She watched as the picture turned grey before her eyes, first grey and then red and blue and yellow and into every color of the rainbow. _Take care_, voices echoed in her head. _Stay safe. Be happy. Live long…_ So many universes, so many lives. Too many to remember each one of them. Joy and happiness, sadness and despair passed through her as time flew like the wind.

Something warm touched her hand.

She turned to look at Peter, smiled at him while he held her hand and anchored her to _their_ universe. Taking a step back she stepped from the stream, content to watch instead of being carried along. People, faces, places flew by, quick and quicker, until it blurred into one colorful kaleidoscope image. Dancing, shifting, constantly in motion while life went on, plans changed and fates intertwined. Peter still had her hand tightly in his. Olivia smiled down at their intertwined fingers.

"You want to have a look?"

Peter frowned slightly. "You can live with the _could-have-been_'s?"

Olivia shook her head vigorously. "It's not about knowing what could have been, Peter. It's about _knowing what was_ and yet going on."

A slight tightening of his hand told her he had understood. He smiled at her, a beautiful, beaming smile that made her heart leap right out of her chest.

"Olivia, I love you."

The sentence echoed softly, wavered and danced, rose into the air like a song and the world turned to gold.

Somewhere, a child's laugh pearled towards a violet summer sky.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, this feels like an end, doesn't it? But there are two more chapters to go._


	20. Kaleidoscope

**Nothing but Lies, XX**

_Summary: xx. Kaleidoscope. A glance into various worlds that exist next to each other without ever touching._

_A/N: Wow. I've finished this story last week and I can't help myself but feel accomplished!^^ Here, as promised, is the second-last chapter. _

_Thanks goes, as always, to **Misery's Toll**, though this time I was able to reply to her review directly. **Amy** didn't leave an address, so thanks to you, too. I'm glad you enjoyed reading! And to **CoffinWood**, who really read the entire story from the beginning... Thank _you_! I'm so happy you stumbled across this story and are willing to share it with me, as well!_

_Broyles has become quite popular in this story, hasn't he? Even I have grown to love him although he always seemed so remote in the series. (I actually have trouble addressing him by his given name.) He'll come up in the last chapter one last time. Not for long and not in person, but at least he'll be mentioned.  
_

_Hmmm^^ Before I wrote the third-last and the last chapter, this one was my favorite. I hope you'll enjoy it!  
_

* * *

"Peter! Peter!"

The voice of the little girl chimes through the fresh spring air. The first birds have begun to sing, the first spring-flowers carefully venture outside, stretching their faces towards the sun. The world is coming back to life after a long winter.

A little girl runs down the driveway of a house while shouting a name. The door opens even before she reaches it and a pretty woman welcomes her with a smile.

"Hello Olivia! Why are you so excited?"

The little girl stops on the threshold, panting slightly, her eyes shining. "There's something Peter has to see! Daddy brought home a puppy!"

A dark-haired boy jumps down the stairs. His grin widens even more when he sees the blonde girl.

"Olivia!"

"Peter, you need to come to see our puppy!"

A man follows the boy on his heels. The boy turns around, his eyes bright. "Dad, can I?"

Walter Bishop smiles at his son. "Run along. We'll finish the puzzle later on. It's too nice outside to spend the day indoors, isn't it, Elizabeth?"

He puts his arm around his wife's shoulders. They both watch as the children disappear down the driveway.

* * *

"Hey, Mara! Do you remember me? We went to college together! How are you?"

"Peter? Peter Bishop?"

"Right!"

"Peter! You look great! I'm fine, thanks! How's your mother?"

"You saw how hard she took my father's death – but she has gotten better since then. She's able to smile again."

"She was wonderful! I still remember her speech after she found us smoking hasch that one time… Hey, this is Olivia Dunham, a friend of mine. Olivia, meet Peter! We…"

"Went to college together, I heard! Hi, Peter. Nice to meet you."

"Where are you from, Olivia?"

"Jacksonville, California."

"And what are you doing for a living?"

"I fear it would be a threat to national security if I told you."

"She's working for the FBI."

"Hey, a spy! You probably see a lot more action on one day than I'll ever get in my life. I'm an IT specialist. Would you like a drink?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Hey, I'm still there! He-ey, Liv, It's me, you best friend!... Oh, wth, totally gone."

* * *

"Peter…"

"Hn..."

"Peter!"

"Olivia?"

"Peter, honestly, what are you doing?"

The teenager shrank back as if she had hit him.

"Umm… Nothing."

Which was a lie. He had totally been trying to kiss her. Seventeen years old, awkward and angry at himself for it, he pushed his hands into his pockets. Olivia glared at him accusingly.

"I know you since we were three. You don't look like _nothing_."

"Just forget it, Liv."

She huffed and continued writing. He tried to go back to their science project but his mind was elsewhere. The way the sun, falling through the library's windows, shone on her hair, the way she bit her lip whenever she tried to figure something out… He just couldn't help but think of her, even though she was his best friend. On the other side of the table, Lincoln, the third in their group, was focused on building a paper ball army from their teacher's instruction sheets. Olivia probably would hit him if she knew he had somehow fallen in love but Peter didn't know a way how to fall out of love with her again.

* * *

"So, what important thing you have to tell me that you actually invite me out _here_?" Olivia asked.

_Here_ was one of the finest restaurants in town, something she only liked occasionally. John knew, so he reserved it for special occasions. That was why _he _knew_ she _knew something was on his mind.

"I mean, you can't ask me to marry you twice," she continued cheerfully and looked down on the menu in her hands. He watched her without answering: the candle's glow made her hair shine and the blue dress she wore – simple but pretty – made her even more beautiful.

"Wait," she said and looked up at him from under her bangs. Fear crept into her voice. "You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

"_What?" _Incredulous as to what conclusion she had come, John reached across the table and took her hand. "Liv, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. Of course I'm not letting go of you!"

She stared at him for a second.

"Good," she then answered, her voice husky. "I thought you were taking the easy way out, too."

"I'm not going to leave you the way your parents and Rachel left you," he told her firmly. "No. I wanted to ask you to meet my best man."

"You'll have one?" Surprise shone in her grey eyes. He nodded.

"You know my family is dead and the fact that I work undercover most of the time means I don't have any friends. I shouldn't have a wife, actually, but we talked about that. But I do have one old friend I've known since college. He was one of the top grade students-"

"-Like you were-"

"But he works in a different field now. You know the risks, Olivia. Would you still like to get to know him?"

"John, we talked about this. Your life is mine, too. Of course I want to know him, ask him to come over for dinner! Or something like that. What's his name?"

"I'll arrange a meeting, then. His name is Peter Bishop."

* * *

"Strange, isn't it? I'm almost eighty now and I still think the sea looks differently every day."

Peter strained his eyes to look against the sun that almost swallowed up his wife. He couldn't find anything strange in her observation: They were married for almost forty years now and he still thought she was as beautiful as the day he had seen her for the first time.

He caught her hand, pulled her closer to him and planted a kiss on her brow. There were lines in her face, especially around her eyes. Each one spoke of a life lived without regret. Her blond hair had turned silver and her tall figure had shrunk slightly. But she still held herself proudly.

"No, it isn't strange. The sea _does_ look different every day."

She smiled at him.

"Are you hungry? We could go grab a bite somewhere."

"Didn't you say Beth and the children would come soon?"

"Yeah," she nodded and grinned mischievously. "But I'm getting hungry, and they'll probably be late. You know them."

"Okay, then we'll have ice cream," Peter decided. Hand in hand, they walked down the beach while the waves' sound accompanied them.

* * *

"When do you get it? I don't like you – I can't stand your face! Get lost!"

"Come on, Dunham – you wouldn't protest that much if you didn't like me at least a little bit!"

"You are an arrogant prick who thinks just winning the national student's science award and looking good is enough to make a girl fall for him! If the world would swallow you right now before my eyes, I wouldn't care."

"So you do think I look good?"

"GET LOST!"

"Hey, you're blushing!"

"That's anger, Bishop. Stop following me around."

Peter Bishop hated losing. To anyone, in anything. But not for the first time, watching Olivia Dunham's anything but indifferent face, he grinned to himself. She was fighting back and he liked challenges. He would make her change her mind.

* * *

"Olivia, we're late."

Charlie's voice was as calm as ever. He stood some meters down the road, patiently waiting for her to place her money bag back in her pocket while simultaneously juggling four coffee cups and a box of sweets. Charlie would have helped her but he had his hands full as well.

"I'm coming!" She called back, succeeding in closing her bag without letting go of the tray of cups. "Did we get everything? The donuts for Astrid, Phillip's mint chocolates, Lincoln's mocha latte…"

"Nina's cigarettes, William's tea, yeah, we've got it covered. Come on, Dunham, homicide's not a squad you get put into because you're female and blond!"

"Repeat that, Charles Francis, and you'll find yourself covered in four different types of coffee!"

Charlie smirked. "So then speed up."

Olivia snorted but complied. Together, they crossed the road and continued on towards NYPD's headquarters. They had almost reached the main entrance when Olivia stopped dead and her head whipped around. Charlie, always alert, immediately stopped as well and turned to his long-time friend and protégée.

"What's the matter?"

Olivia stared after a man in blue jeans and a leather jacket, carrying a computer case. The same second, the man's head had whipped around to look at them as well.

He looked _at Olivia_ directly.

The sudden tension between the two of them was almost palpable. Then, the man turned away.

"You know him?" Charlie inquired casually. Olivia shook her head.

"Never seen him before."

"Didn't seem like he knew _you_."

"Yeah. Come on, Charlie, there is a squad of hungry detectives waiting for us."

* * *

It wasn't dislike.

Peter Bishop and Olivia Dunham had known each other for almost half of their lives and no, dislike wasn't what was between them.

It was outright hostility.

It had started sometime in college, when the pretty but introverted girl had met a boy who was a social outcast, just like her. Even though they had a lot in common, they hated each other from the day they first set eyes on each other. Or, more precise, after Peter had spilled his drink on Olivia's book and she had spilled hers on his homework in return.

It had both cost them the first and last session of detention of their lives.

"Huh, one could freeze ice cream in here," Rachel commented and watched her sister exchange icy glances with a boy who had just passed them on their way through the hall. It was Olivia's prom night and the room was full of girls wearing fancy dresses and boys wearing smoking.

"Olivia, who's your friend?" Her mother asked. Olivia turned her back on Peter.

"I don't know who you mean, Mum. Come on, let's find our table."

"Who was that charming lady I saw you talking to earlier?" Peter's father inquired, half an hour later. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Sometimes Peter wondered how his brilliant scientist dad was able to solve the most difficult equations within minutes but was unable to read people's faces and body language.

"Dad, she's not charming, and she's _not my girlfriend!_ I guess I'd rather drop dead than date her."

Walter Bishop smiled.

"Good, good."

* * *

"Who was the victim?"

"Male, approximately 30 years old, hit by a bus as he tried to save an old lady who was crossing the street. The lady made it with a minor concussion and a broken arm. He died immediately."

Olivia Dunham looked down on the corpse of a man in her age and, as always, felt the weight of the world press down on her shoulders. Good people died too early, something she witnessed in her job as an FBI agent far too often to her liking. This man had died saving a woman who would die soon anyway. They said justice was blind but sometimes Olivia thought it wasn't only blind but had a horrible sense of humor and an even worse sense for timing.

Astrid, her young colleague from Forensics, crouched down next to the man.

"Trauma to the head, broken ribs, probably punctured lung… Inner bleedings at least. Multiple fractions to the right arm…"

Reducing a man to his injuries sometimes was more Olivia could take.

"Yes, but _who_ is he?" she asked, turning to a young officer who stood at the side uncomfortably. He pulled out a plastic bag that contained the man's driver license and ID.

"His name was Peter Bishop, twenty-seven, from Jacksonville."

Olivia looked down on the dead man unseeingly. Brown hair, brown eyes.

At least he had a name, now.

* * *

"What's your name?"

"You can't be here. This is a dream. This is _my_ dream, you can't be here!"

The girl is nothing but insistent Peter feels anger rise and quench the hope he felt when he saw her for the first time.

"No, this is _my_ dream, so you are a guest. And guests should say their names!"

"But this can't be your dream, I fell asleep and…"

She's frightened but trying hard to hide it. It's cute, somehow, and her fear makes him brave. Since Peter is scared, too – the dream always is full of dark forests and crashing waves and threatening sounds and he never wakes up when he needs to – he opts for trying again.

"Maybe we're just meeting in our dreams? I'm Peter. What's your name?"

"Olivia."

They stare at each other for some time. The shadows grown longer and the sky is blood red, as always. The wind whispers of dangers and voices. Both start and turn around abruptly.

"Come on!"

Peter grabs Olivia's hand and pulls her along. Together, they start running.

* * *

The door bell rang right on time.

Olivia stepped into the corridor and opened her front door and there stood her twin sister and her husband.

"Liv!"

"Soph! Peter! It's good to see you – come in, dinner's ready in a few minutes and John's already waiting!"

Sophia and Peter entered her house naturally. Because they were twin sisters they visited each other often and the fact that their husbands were best friends only added to the atmosphere of familiarity they shared. John, Olivia's husband, was already opening a bottle of wine in the living room. From the kitchen, a wonderful smell wafted into the dining area.

"Hi Sophia, you look great! Peter, how are you doing? Still saving worlds via the court?"

"And you, John, still aiming for world domination via the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"

"Come on, Liv, we'll leave our husbands to compare their egos, I'll help you in the kitchen," Sophia suggested and both women disappeared. They worked together in familiar silence. But today it wasn't as comfortable as it normally was. Sophia finally broke down.

"Liv. I'm pregnant."

Olivia stared at her, first in shock, then in surprise. A smile spread across her face.

"Soph! That's wonderful!" She hugs her tightly. "I'm so happy for you!"

Her sister's figure remained stiff and impassive. Olivia took a closer look and frowned at the expression on her sister's face. She took her by her shoulders. "What's wrong?" Her heart skipped a beat. "The baby's alright, isn't it? Are _you_ alright?"

Hesitantly, Sophia nodded and bit her lip. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's okay. It just happened so fast. Peter is delighted, of course, he's so happy and I don't know… I…"

She sighed and screwed her eyes shut. Olivia stood there, her hands still on her sister's upper arms, and waited patiently. Finally, Sophia rushed: "Sometimes I wonder, Liv. Do you think you could have fallen in love with Peter, too?"

"What?" Olivia was caught off guard. Her sister cast a glance at the floor and returned it back to her imploringly.

"Liv, we're almost one person. _Twins. _We're similar in so many things that matter. And Peter loved _you_ first, met _you_ first. Maybe he only married me because we're so similar?"

Olivia chose her words carefully, knowing her sister needed something she could give her but didn't want to ask for. One word wrong and their lives would be shattered. She took a deep breath and smiled.

"Sophia. Peter and I had a relationship long ago but that's the past. He loves you for whom you are, married you for whom you are, not for your and my similarities. He _chose_ you. Are you happy?"

For a while, both were quiet. Then Sophia smiled at her sister, a light, free smile.

"I'm happy, Liv. Are you?"

"Yes, I am."

* * *

"What are you doing there?"

Olivia stopped in her actions and looked up at Peter who towered over her. She smirked at him and he smiled back, something that made her heart speed up even now.

"I'm looking for something."

"On the floor?"

"The best way to look at photographs is to sit on the floor, so yes, I'm looking for something on the floor."

Peter kneeled down next to her and took some of the pictures into his hand.

"Hey, is that Rachel?"

Olivia looked at the photograph and laughed.

"Yeah, that's her. When she was five she insisted of going to school in this costume. She did so for three weeks, I think."

Peter chuckled. "It's cute. But what are you looking for?"

"A picture of my Mum and Dad. They had it taken in Jacksonville, when Mum was pregnant with Rachel. I just…"

She fell silent.

"I just wanted to see them," she finished quietly. Peter lifted his hand to push a strand of hair from her face.

"They would be proud of you and what you have done," he said. She gave a tiny smile. "Who knows. Maybe, in another universe, Dad hasn't died and they would live to see their grandchildren. They would love Ella."

"_Grandchildren? _Plural?"

"Maybe?"

"Are you _pregnant_?"

She hesitated. "No. But I thought… I… maybe, one day…"

"Olivia Dunham, you never cease to amaze me!"

"Outch! Don't suffocate me, idiot, if you want to live long enough to see _your_ grandchildren!"

* * *

_Creak._

Somewhere, a door falls shut.


	21. Here and Now

**Nothing but Lies, XXI**

_Summary: xxi. Here and Now. And she knows it is the truth, simple and unshakable. Final chapter._

_A/N: This is the last chapter – the epilogue – of NbL. I apologize for _

_- stupid errors in time and space_

_- my non-existent knowledge or wild make-ups of New York geography, American actors, American presidents, American history, information technology and the laws of Physics_

_- randomness and non-progress of the story and for_

_- sudden changes in point of views, style, universes, structure and tenses!_

_At the same time thanks goes, again and forever, to Misery's Toll and all the people who peeked in to review from time to time. Without you, I'd have stopped after ten chapters instead of going AU. Thank you for giving me the chance to finish this, for encouragement, praise and criticism, for new ideas and for your patience. _

_Maybe I'll meet you all again somewhere. _

* * *

Sunlight falls onto her bare arms.

Olivia tilts back her head and takes in the warmth of the sun. It isn't summer yet, even if spring is slowly fading. But nights are steadily growing warmer and the sun at midday is warm and golden. People hurry down the streets, talking, laughing, walking, and the image is so _normal_ she feels like wanting to burst out laughing in sheer joy.

_We are back._

* * *

Eighteen months have passed since their strange encounter with the being they called the device. Much more time has flown by since she returned from _Over There_, even more since she travelled thereto bring Peter back. So many hours, days, weeks, months and years since she lost John and Charlie. So little time since she found them again. She knows they are alive, somewhere, somehow, each one in his own universe. Each one living on, dreaming on. And there are so many universes, so many dreams, so many wishes. The sheer number of opportunities still astounds her beyond belief.

She watches three children speed across the lawns of the park which spread out in front of her and can't help but smile. Pearls of laughter reach her ear, touch a string in her heart. Since their world was healed there is a pain in her chest that will never leave. It has become a part of her, just like so many other things have changed her, made her grow, shaped her. So many things and so many _people _made her the person she is today. William Bell is dead. Nina Sharpe is dead and _her _Charlie and _her _John. In another world, a mother still mourns the loss of her only son. In the same universe, children grow up with the person that is their father and yet is not. Olivia remembers Phillip Broyles. She sees his concerned face and his warm, dark eyes in front of her. She remembers both Phillip Broyles: two people, the same and yet so different and the same, again, in a way that is entirely inexplicable and yet the easiest answer in the universe. Her heart reaches out, like so often, trying to cross the expanse of time and reality. _Be happy. Thank you. Farewell. _

_Until we meet again. _

Underneath her naked feet, the grass is cool and moist. On a whim she has taken off her shoes, has pulled off her stockings and now buries her feet in cool, green grass. Why they have given her Fringe Department as Special Agent in Charge one year ago is beyond her. There hasn't been a Fringe event since the end. The world is normal once again, back to its daily routine that once seemed so far away. They aren't needed any more: years will pass, decades, even centuries if she can believe what Peter was told by the machine itself. A long time will pass until their world will start to gravitate towards its siblings again, until the multitude of possibilities shrinks to one and realities start to merge. Many years will pass until people will have to search for a gate again, for a solution, for a way to overcome the veils between universes in order to call upon an ancient being living in the heart of a mechanical device. Maybe, then, there will be another way. Maybe war will be out of question by then. Maybe, in the future, someone will find an ancient file, written by someone named Fringe Division, typed up neatly on a yellowish and stained piece of paper bearing the signature of a Federal Bureau long closed down. Maybe it will contain a prophesy on the end of the world and the destruction of mankind. Maybe a woman will lose a loved one and start having dreams. Maybe she will set out to find answers first and a way to save her world later. Maybe she will meet a weird scientist, a loyal colleague and a serious superior, a cheery assistant and a lost man and together they will be able to save their world. Maybe, maybe…

Maybe is just another excuse humans use in order to justify their ways of life. If she has learned something it is the following:

_Live every day._

Just _live_.

* * *

Olivia has never lied to herself. She might have thought so, might have believed what she repeated to herself during those far-gone, dark and cold days was _not_ the truth. Some people find comfort in knowing they are able to lie. She found it in the strength of a lie that wasn't one, not at any moment in her life. If someone says _I lie_, and this in itself is the truth, does he always lie? Or is it just a twisted, confusing view on life? Underneath the warm sheets of a bed shared with John, in the cold waters of Walter's sensory deprivation tank, on the leathery upholstery of her own couch. During those white and black days of searching and re-living, on her journey through the universes, in the dim light of Peter's _Over There _apartment, on the icy stone floor of her prison cell and its hopelessness, to another level of pain and desperation upon her return, Olivia has learned what lies are. She has seen their selfish sides and what people call white lies. She has seen lies heal people and destroy them, has seen lies turn to truth and to despair. Lies have held her when she threatened to fall and have caused her as much pain as the truth has. And in the midst of everything she has learned that there is no lie and no truth, no distinction in between them. There only is one thing that matters and it is the way one chooses to live one's life.

Olivia chooses _here. _

* * *

A soft wind stirs up the soft, green leaves of the trees around her. It plays in her hair, whisking blond strands into her face which tickle her cheeks. She pushes them away with one hand. She keeps her hair short, just long enough to be able to tuck it away behind her ears. The soft feeling of it has become familiar and light. The first time she cut her hair had been to distinguish herself from whom she had been and whom she had become. It was punishment and relief at the same time and every time she caught Peter looking at her from the corners of his eyes she didn't know whether to cry or to rage. And even now, knowing his expression as well as her own and having understood what it is, she still hasn't gotten used to the wonder she sees whenever she catches him looking at her. It doesn't scare her anymore. Instead, she feels… _contentment._ He can still look right through her, right past every mask she tries on, and still marvels at her as if she was a precious piece of art that never changes and yet looks different every day. She can see it in him, too, the way he shifts like a landscape on the bottom of the sea watched from above. His expression, his eyes, his voice – she still learns to listen, to _see_, because there are so many nuances to him she feels like she doesn't know him at all even after years. Sometimes even his touch feels different and she shivers whenever his fingers run over her bare skin. Every touch, every lingering gaze and every smile tells her: He'll never, ever again mistake her for someone she isn't, the same way he'll never again mistake someone for being her.

And she knows it is the truth, simple and unshakable.

* * *

Olivia slips on her shoes again without bothering to put on her socks and slowly starts walking. The sun is losing strength as the shadows grow longer. She passes a playground full of children and parents, benches with old people sitting and enjoying the first summer's sun. Shouts and laughter come from everywhere.

Sometimes, they still wonder. What is it – this being, this consciousness living in a shell of cables, steel and circuitry? Walter calls it _the device_, Peter named it _the child._ Astrid, whose scientific nature cannot help but wonder, invents different names for it with each day they discuss the topic. Olivia has settled on a simple one she uses only for herself: _creator. _The name isn't supposed to refer to a higher deity or even God. But brought up as a Christian and raised in the realms of Science, she cultivates her own belief. What else is there if there isn't _something_, something more than _anything_? Every human being is a creator itself. The consciousness inside the machine was only a part of a huge entity, some small part of a being that lived in different worlds, times and universes and called out to its parts. Maybe, she sometimes thinks, maybe it was this. Maybe the tiny parts of the creator's soul were lonely and called out, gravitated towards each other unconsciously and thus almost brought forth their own death. But then, there it is again, the obligatory _maybe_ she has come to realize is the biggest mystery of all.

They still try to solve it.

Sometimes, when there's not much to do, when Walter isn't occupied with his business, when Astrid finishes with her tasks as Olivia's assistant early and manages to maneuver her superior to the huge building that houses Massive Dynamics. They try on days when Peter comes home from the MIT early, a huge grin on his face that tells the world he just bested some students by expanding their horizon so far they didn't even remember to ask questions when he was finished with them. Together, they sit and discuss and analyze what has happened, and how, and why, and between the four of them they spin hypothesis and develop theories. But the fact remains that what happened to them has passed the world almost forgotten. Of course the people remember the day the world almost collapsed, the war and the dead and the fear. But ask them about districts encased in amber and you'd receive a confused stare and a shake of the head. And it's not like they have time every day. Since there is so little for Fringe Division to do Olivia works for other departments, and Astrid, as her assistant, follows wherever she goes. Walter has a whole bunch of scientists at his disposal and Astrid left him in the capable hands of the girl Alexandra Peter had trained so well. And Peter teaches Theoretical Physics and Relativity at the MIT, astounding both students and professors.

* * *

The weather's nice. On Sunday, she will take Rachel and Ella out, she decides. The girl enjoys their weekends together, especially her time with Peter. Olivia loves those days, too, when the people she considers her family are with her. Lately, it seems as if Rachel has met someone new. Ella has already spent a few evenings with Olivia and Peter. She takes a second to close her eyes. She wishes for her sister's happiness with her whole heart. When she opens them again, the world's brightness blinds her as it always does when she forgets to shield her eyes. It takes a few seconds to get used to the light again, like every time.

* * *

Nowadays, it is stronger than ever.

One of the things not even Walter can explain is the fact that her sight hasn't left her when the curtains fell, that her ability to see through the veil still is with her. The world is alight in colors. For the briefest of seconds universes have merged, being drawn together and torn apart in the blink of an eye that lasted forever. Her reality has been touched by _Over There_. It has ceased to be a single being and has become more. How _much_ more even Olivia cannot tell. What she knows is that every person has a different color, shines in a glimmer uniquely his own. Sometimes she is afraid of looking into the mirror because she, too, has it. All around her the universe sports the proof that it has transcended its own self and grown, has crossed borders of reason and has become _more_. Worlds have touched and nothing will ever be the same again. Plants, people, even buildings, shine in the light of their otherworldliness and sometimes the reflection is too bright for her. She averts her eyes, then, but only for a few seconds. Days seem brilliant and warm gold and nights are all pale silver, cool white and dark black. The world is beautiful in its own way. Wary, yes, and old, and suffering. But there is a beauty to it she never really noticed until the moment she learned to see. Until the moment she accepted who she was. Gate? Keeper? Traveler? Seeker? Outcast?

_Olivia._

* * *

A bird is sitting on the branches of a low bush, facing away from her. The woman slows her step to watch the tiny creature flutter and pick at its plumage. It flutters away quickly when her mobile rings.

"Dunham."

"Olivia." Peter forms her name like other people form the name of precious jewels. She smiles.

"Yes."

"Walter just called. He decided he wants a barbecue tonight."

"A barbecue. It's not even summer."

A deep chuckle follows her incredulous statement.

"Yeah. He claims as soon as the sun is out for more than ten hours a day it is summer by definition."

"Sounds like him."

They both share a brief moment of silence. She knows he can feel her smile, the same way she can feel his warmth. "So what should I bring?"

"Would you mind running by the store to get some meat and bread?" Peter asks, his voice full of amusement. "I'll pick up some drinks and corn on the cobs. When will you be back?"

She runs over the next appointment in her head quickly.

"Half past eight."

"Fine. I'll organize a barbecue and all the stuff. I'll see you then?"

Half a statement, half a question. Enough to have her heart beating wildly in her chest, looking forward to seeing him again.

"Hey – can Ella and Rachel come?"

"Of course. I'll call them and pick them up."

"Thanks, Peter."

"You're welcome."

Olivia holds her breath and listens intently. She can hear him breathing at the other end of the line. She can see him, too: the expression on his face, the color of his eyes, the smirk on his lips. She can feel his heartbeat, a sound even more familiar to her now than her own. In front of her, a group of teenagers pass by, chatting away enthusiastically, looking for a place to sit. The words rise inside her, plead to be released, sing in her mind until she caves and breathes in deeply.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

As always, the words exit her with the heavy feeling of _rightness_. The truth, honest and unshakable, and she knows Peter knows they are. On those words, her new world has been built. Everything she has, everything she _is_ springs from them, which have been given to her as a gift so she can share them again. Every lie there ever was withers, changes shape and turns to vivid, bright colors.

Here she is_. _

"I love you."


End file.
